Chapter 2: Fractures and Forging

Roots of Desire

Chapter 2: Fractures and Forging

Iveyna woke to the faint scent of coal smoke. It clung to her skin, familiar and grounding, as though the walls of her family’s modest home sought to pull her back into reality. Her limbs ached; a dull, heavy soreness that didn’t belong to a restful night. She shifted under the thin woolen blanket, a cold shiver brushing the back of her neck. Something wasn’t right.

For a moment, she lay still, her mind hazy. Then it struck her; the forest. She had been gathering wood, farther than she should have gone. There had been a sound; no, a presence; something vast and ancient stirring in the shadows. And then…

Her breath caught. The creek. She remembered falling; icy water swallowing her as the world faded to black. But she was here. Home. Dry, except for the tips of her hair still tangled and damp.

A dream, surely. It had to be.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she winced at the stiffness in her knees. Whatever had happened, it was over. The warmth of home hummed around her; safe, ordinary. But the memory of rough bark and a voice like distant thunder gnawed at the edges of her thoughts.

She shook it off and stood, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. There’s work to do.

The clang of her father’s hammer echoed through the forge, the sharp scent of hot metal thick in the air. Iveyna paused in the doorway, watching as sparks scattered like stars beneath his steady hands. The axe he worked on gleamed in the low light, half-formed but already heavy with purpose.

“Finally awake, Ivy?” he said, not glancing up. His voice was rough as iron, worn down by years of shaping steel. “Thought you’d sleep the day away.”

“I was out late,” she answered, stepping inside. “The woods took longer than I expected. A half-truth. If he knew how far she had wandered, she’d never hear the end of it.

Her father grunted, lifting the glowing blade to the anvil. “You push your luck out there.” Another strike, and the edge sharpened beneath his touch. “One day the forest’s going to bite back.”

Iveyna leaned against the workbench, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of the hammer. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” He turned, Kolebert’s face lined with soot and sweat. “Because a fool’s only got to be wrong once to never come back.” Before she could respond, her mother’s voice floated in from the other room. “Don’t start with her.” She appeared a moment later, wiping her hands on an apron, her sharp eyes cutting between them. “Let the girl breathe Kolebert.”

Iveyna sighed. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.” Her mother huffed softly. “It’s not worry. It’s sense.” She brushed a stray lock of dark hair from her face. “You’ve been restless lately. More than usual.”

“I’m not restless,” Iveyna said, though the words felt hollow. Her father snorted under his breath. “Could’ve fooled me.” The hammer fell again, a final blow that rang through the forge. He lifted the axe, inspecting the blade’s edge. Its surface gleamed with etched runes; delicate, curling symbols she couldn’t read. “That’s new,” she said, nodding toward the markings. “Commission,” her father muttered. “Town steward wanted something… special.” He set the axe down, wiping his hands on a rag. “Symbols don’t mean much to me, but people like their magic when it suits them.”

Iveyna traced a finger along the carved wood of the handle. The grain felt warm; alive; beneath her touch. A faint tremor ran up her arm, a pulse of something she couldn’t explain. She pulled her hand back quickly.

Her mother’s gaze sharpened. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

But her heart still beat too fast. And for reasons she couldn’t name, she felt as if the forest had followed her home.

Over dinner, the warmth of the forge faded into quiet conversation. Her father sat hunched over his plate, eating methodically, while her mother spoke of small-town matters; new orders for winter clothes, the steward’s growing paranoia about the deep woods.

Iveyna barely listened. Her thoughts tugged elsewhere; to the shadow in the forest. The memory of falling. And the lingering question that wouldn’t leave her.

How did I get home?

“So,” her father said, cutting through her thoughts, “you’ll come with me tomorrow to deliver the axe.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The Steward, Ruwan Macgruger,” he said. “Wants it in hand by sunrise. Thought you might want a change from the woods.”

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Iveyna hesitated. Her mother’s eyes on her felt heavier than the silence stretching between them. She should say yes; should follow the path laid out for her, steady and safe.

But some part of her, the part that still felt the forest’s breath against her skin, hesitated.

“I’ll think about it,” she said at last.

Her father only grunted, as if he already knew her answer.

Later, when the forge was dark and the house quiet, Iveyna lay awake in bed. The moonlight cast pale ribbons across the floor, her heart still restless in her chest.

Logic told her she must have made her way home alone. But the memory of something else; something ancient and powerful; held fast in her mind.

She touched the edge of her cloak where it had dried stiff from the creek water. And no matter how much her parents wished she would settle, she wasn’t ready to stop searching.

Sleep did not come easily.

Iveyna lay still, her body heavy against the worn mattress, but her thoughts tangled and restless. She could almost hear the distant murmur of the forest; leaves whispering secrets she couldn’t quite grasp. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of settling wood. Yet beneath the familiar stillness, something gnawed at her.

A shadow that would not let her go.

She threw off the blanket with a frustrated sigh and slipped from her bed. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she crept to the window. Outside, the night stretched vast and heavy. The silhouette of the forest loomed against the sky, darker than the void between the stars. She knew every path through those woods. Every trail carved by years of gathering. But whatever had happened today; whatever had followed her home; was something else entirely.

And no one would believe her.

A faint glow spilled beneath the door to the main room. Her father should’ve been asleep by now. But as she eased the door open, she found him seated by the dying hearth, sharpening the axe in slow, deliberate strokes. The runes gleamed faintly, as if the edge itself held a hunger.

“You’re up late,” he said, without looking at her. “So are you,” she countered, stepping closer. The whetstone hissed against the blade. “Work doesn’t finish itself.” Iveyna hesitated before lowering herself into the chair across from him. The warmth of the fire barely touched the chill curling in her stomach. “What did the steward say when he ordered it?”

Her father paused, fingers tightening around the haft. “Didn’t ask many questions. When the steward wants something, you give it without fuss.” He met her gaze, eyes dark beneath furrowed brows. “Best you remember that when you see him.”

“I didn’t say I was going.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was hard as iron. “Running through those woods won’t change what’s expected of you.” A flash of anger sparked in her chest. “And what is that? Hauling coal until my back breaks? Or delivering weapons for men too afraid to lift them themselves?”

Her father’s jaw tightened. “It’s honest work.” “It’s a cage,” she snapped, before she could stop herself. The silence that followed cut deeper than any blade. For a long moment, he said nothing, only the scrape of the whetstone filling the room. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower; quieter.

“You think I don’t know that?” He set the axe aside, the firelight casting hard lines across his face. “You think I never wanted more than this? But wanting doesn’t put food on the table, Ivy. And the steward; he doesn’t take kindly to dreamers.” Her heart thudded against her ribs, torn between guilt and defiance. She knew how much her father had sacrificed to keep this family afloat. And yet, the memory of the forest’s breath still lingered on her skin; calling her deeper, farther.

“I’m not like you,” she said, softer now. His expression hardened. “No. You’re not.” He stood, lifting the axe in one fluid motion. Without another word, he disappeared into the forge, leaving only the dying embers in his wake. Iveyna sat there for a long time, staring at the empty doorway. No matter how much her father tried to hammer her into the shape he wanted; something inside her refused to bend.

Iveyna slipped back into her room, but sleep was a distant thought. The ache in her chest lingered; sharp and restless; as she sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the dark. The words her father had left unsaid weighed heavier than the ones he’d spoken.

She shouldn’t have snapped. She knew how much pressure he bore; how much the steward’s demands ground him down day after day. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she didn’t grasp for something beyond this life, it would close around her like a trap.

A faint murmur drifted through the thin walls. Her parents’ voices; low and tense; cut through the silence. She stilled, leaning toward the sound. “You’re too hard on her,” her mother said, her voice sharp but quieter than usual. “Pushing won’t make her stay.”

A long pause. Then her father’s voice, rough and edged with exhaustion. “And letting her run wild will only lead to worse. She’s 30 summers old, Miren. When is she going to understand that the world won’t wait while she chases dreams?”

“She’s not a child, Kolebert.”

“No,” he said bitterly. “She’s a grown woman with no husband, no prospects; nothing tying her down. How long before she walks away for good?” The words struck deeper than they should have.

Iveyna clenched her jaw, her hands curling into fists in the folds of her blanket. Was that how he saw her? A problem to solve; something broken because she hadn’t married some coal-covered fool who wanted to bind her to this place?

“You think I don’t worry about that?” her mother snapped back. “Every day, I see the way she looks at the woods; like they’ll give her answers she won’t find here. But maybe if you didn’t press so hard, she’d find a reason to stay.”

“I’m not pressing. I’m trying to keep her safe,” her father growled. “What happens when the steward decides he’s done with our work? If we fall out of favor, there won’t be another chance. You think he hasn’t noticed her?”

A chill ran down Iveyna’s spine.

Her mother’s voice lowered, tense and angry. “I’ve seen the way he looks at her. But she’s not some lamb to be bartered, and I’ll not let you sell her future to keep us in his good graces.”

“No one’s selling anything,” he snapped. “But she won’t have a future at all if she keeps tempting fate. I won’t watch her vanish into those woods like; ”

He stopped himself.

Like who?

Iveyna strained to hear, her pulse quickening. But the silence stretched thick between them before her father finally spoke again; his voice softer this time. Tired. “I’m just… I’m trying to hold on to her before it’s too late.”

A heavy sigh followed. “I know,” her mother said, quieter now. “But maybe holding tighter isn’t the way.” Their words faded into the quiet hum of the house. But they left a bitter taste in Iveyna’s mouth.

To them, she was a problem; too restless, too wild, and far too old to be wandering the woods alone. And maybe they were right. Maybe it would be easier if she let herself become what they wanted.