The ankle recovered quickly. It was thanks to Ian, of course, and even Gelda joining in to closely monitor Helena.

‘They told me not to go out until today, but…’

Helena repeatedly confirmed that Ian was not outside the window before heading out to Platanus Street. She couldn’t stand being cooped up in the room any longer.

However, after walking for just a few minutes, a familiar figure appeared in the distance. Black hair, styled in a short cut reminiscent of a lion’s mane.

‘Gelda…!’

She didn’t know what kind of lecture she’d receive if caught this time. When it came to nagging, Gelda was even more annoying than Ian.

Helena opened any nearby door and went inside. There was no time to check the interior. She just leaned against the door, letting out a sigh of relief, grateful for the close timing.

But she immediately let out a scream. In her haste, she hadn’t considered that someone might be inside.

“Kyaak!”

“Aaagh!”

The other person, startled by the sudden bird-like sound, burst out with a similar reaction. Of course, it was a much thicker, rougher, and more robust sound.

Helena, surprised once again by that sound, screamed again. This time, the other person made a soothing sound as if trying to calm her down.

“Shh-.”

Plam, who had been comfortably lying on a long chair covered with a blanket, sat up. Helena’s eyes met with his round eyes beneath thick eyebrows.

“…What brings you here?”

Helena’s gaze wavered here and there. She felt sorry for disturbing his afternoon nap, and she also couldn’t find the right words to answer.

But her wandering gaze gradually fixed on him as she took in his appearance. Helena couldn’t understand why she found herself looking at him as if searching for differences in a spot-the-difference puzzle from the last page of a daily newspaper.

He looked the same as usual, but not perfectly so. Something was subtly different. Helena only realized what that difference was when Plam stood up completely from his seat.

‘Ah. His left arm…’

The hand that was always covered with a black glove was nowhere to be seen. It was empty, as if it had never been there to begin with.

Noticing her gaze fixed on his left arm, Plam hurriedly turned around.

“Oh my, I forgot to put it back on.”

He fumbled with his right hand on the side table next to the chair. The prosthetic arm he missed fell to the floor.

She finally understood the slight awkwardness she had been sensing from him all this time. Helena quietly approached and picked up the prosthetic arm.

‘…It’s old.’

The iron surface was full of scratches and patches where the paint had peeled off. It was the years he had lived with this hand.

Helena silently held out the prosthetic arm to Plam. He took it with a somewhat hesitant air.

While he was assembling the prosthetic arm, Helena looked around the blacksmith shop.

Swords and axes lined the walls painted with yellow soil, various tools covered in grime, pieces of iron still glowing red, the smell of wood mixed with ash. The interior was hot, as if forging had just finished.

Everything that stimulated her senses was a trace of Plam. It was his mark.

So Helena blurted out without thinking.

“You’re an amazing person, sir.”

“…Huh?”

Plam looked up while putting a glove over his prosthetic arm. Helena, still fixating her eyes on the countless weapons he had made, asked.

“How did you make up your mind to stand in front of the fire again?”

“…”

The answer didn’t come immediately. Helena slowly turned around to face him.

His right eye, not covered by an eye patch, was a deep sea blue. The heavy cobalt blue soon disappeared between the finely wrinkled eye-smile.

“Well, now. You’re quite peculiar, miss. That’s why Gelda must have snatched you up… Everyone usually wonders how we ended up like this first.”

“That’s…”

Helena hesitated for a moment before deciding to just say what came to mind.

“Rather than that… everyone has their own reasons for despair, right? But there’s only one vague way to overcome it. I find that one way too difficult… So I wanted to know how it was for you, sir.”

The ambiguous smile on Plam’s lips turned bitter. The wrinkles around his eyes disappeared, revealing his deep blue eyes again.

“If that’s the case, I’m not sure if I’ll be of much help. The truth is, I still find it difficult too.”

“But you’re still Plam the blacksmith, aren’t you? This forge is your space. How did you manage to keep it even after losing something precious? I, I…”

“I know. At first, there’s nothing you can do but despair.”

Plam picked up where Helena couldn’t finish. It felt strange to share a gaze with someone who knew neither each other’s past nor present well. Yet Helena couldn’t help but ask.

“…Was it the same for you, sir?”

“Of course. When everything you’ve done as naturally as breathing becomes impossible overnight, you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t break down.”

He answered while flexing his prosthetic arm this way and that to check if it was properly connected. The voice he struggled to bring out next felt like his eyes. It was like the gentle waves of a night sea.

“But what can you do? I was born to handle iron, after all.”

Plam approached the furnace. With a few skilled strokes of the bellows, the fire roared to life.

Helena quietly drifted along with the wave-like story told by this fiery man.

“Losing an arm and an eye didn’t mean my life had to disappear with them. It felt too unfair. I still had three limbs left, after all.”

While the flames rose, he strode with large steps to the opposite workbench. When he returned, he was holding a thick iron hammer.

Then he put a piece of pig iron into the flames. When the iron turned red-hot, he took it out onto the anvil. Plam began to strike it without hesitation.

“So I picked up the hammer again. It didn’t matter how long it took, I just had to make something. As I hammered all day like that, somehow things turned out even better than before. It felt like molten iron was flowing through my body instead of blood.”

In his hands, the hard piece of iron stretched like dough. Between the clanging of metal, Plam’s low voice harmonized even more pleasantly.

“I’m not trying to brag, but… my swords fetch the highest price in this area.”

He glanced at Helena for a moment and chuckled.

“Sometimes you wonder how life turned out like this, but somehow you keep on living. That’s just how it is. So since we’re living anyway, let’s try to live well. Both you and me.”

What was once just a heavy lump of iron was now being forged into a sharp blade. A curve stronger and straighter than any other sword was emerging. The clanging sound continued unabated.

Helena, intoxicated by the heat from the flames, watched him a little longer before leaving.

“Well, well, look who waited so patiently to come in. That impatient woman.”

“Shut up, just fix this for me.”

Gelda, who only entered after Helena left, tossed something wrapped in waterproof cloth onto Plam’s workbench.

“Always so irritable.” Muttering quietly, Plam unwrapped the bundle. Inside was a dagger that had clearly seen many years of use.

Plam’s eyebrows rose.

“Why do you keep using this worn-out knife so stubbornly?”

“You’re missing an eye, but we still keep you around stubbornly. Why can’t I use this?”

“Tsk, just let me make you a new one and throw this away. But don’t throw me away.”

Plam was about to toss the dagger towards the pile of discarded iron pieces, but his raised arm was suddenly grabbed by Gelda’s hand.

“No. I like this one.”

At the same time, the eyes she fixed on Plam were as stubborn as the strength with which she now held his arm.

It was only a few seconds of confrontation, but many intentions flowed through their gazes. In the end, Plam was the first to sigh, signaling defeat.

“Come back in the evening. I’ll fix it up like new.”

Only then did Gelda release his arm and leave. Plam plopped down in front of the crackling embers.

As he rubbed his thumb over the dagger, he felt a concave engraving on the handle. Looking closely, Gelda’s name was carved in crooked letters.

It was something he had made when he had turned his back on the world after losing his arm and eye in an accident.

“Get up. Even if you don’t want to make anything, make something for me. I’ll only use what comes from your hands, whether it’s just a lump of iron or a stick, so make it.”

It was the first time he had picked up a hammer and struck iron again after years of bitter heartbreak and wandering. For someone stubborn, or perhaps for himself.

‘How did it feel to hold that hammer handle back then?’

How could that still keep him breathing to this day?

Plam remained in a daze until Gelda’s voice echoing in his head completely faded away. He stayed like that for a long time, just fiddling with the name his past self had engraved.

“Somehow… you keep on living.”

It was a murmur to no one in particular.

That night, Helena received Gelda’s visit for the second time already.

She didn’t bother offering a seat. She thought Gelda would get straight to the point as usual, without any meaningless greetings.

However, Gelda first spent some time inquiring about Helena’s injury.

“Is your ankle feeling better?”

“Yes, thanks to everyone’s care.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

“…”

Of course, the topic of conversation quickly ran dry. Gelda wasn’t used to squeezing out meaningless dialogue. With no other choice, she asked directly.

“I heard you saw Plam’s arm today.”

Having somewhat anticipated this topic, Helena answered calmly.

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“Why are you defending yourself? You’re a proper member of Partren now, you have the right to know that much.”

“Then why did you come?”

Helena couldn’t think of any other reason why Gelda would visit her personally again.

Gelda tossed a leather-bound knife handle to the puzzled Helena.

“It’s nothing much, just take it.”

As it wasn’t the first or second time Gelda had abruptly given her something, Helena received it naturally.

It was a dagger that looked quite old. Despite its age, the blade was clean without a single spot of rust. It seemed to have been meticulously maintained.

While Helena was looking at her reflection in the mirror-like blade, Gelda’s voice continued.

“It’s the first knife that crazy guy made after coming to his senses.”

“You mean… Mr. Plam? But why are you giving this to me…”

“I think you’ll need it more than me now.”

Helena’s fingertips stiffened for a moment.