Veidja left her chamber. She pushed lightly against the door and it immediately swung open. One of the gains since N'Arahn had been forced to show her more of his world. In the corridor, she was flanked immediately by one of the captains. The demonlord always placed a guard at her side.

He didn't trust her, that was clear. But she still enjoyed this little bit of freedom. No longer only being able to leave the room when she was called to an arena fight. The fact that at least one shadow followed her... It was just like it was. Although 'shadow' was a clear understatement for a mountain of flesh like the captain. But she could live with that.

From time to time she simply wanted to explore the corridors and had already stumbled across one or two interesting parts of the fortress. Although, of course, she never found an exit.

Somehow she needed to move today. The events of the last few days had shaken her up: visits from other demonlords, flattery, pressure. And an increasingly reserved N'Arahn, who now, after reminding her so harshly of her dependence and fragility in the Red Depths, no longer spoke to her at all. He had become steadily more monosyllabic before, with the exception of the conversation that had ended so abruptly. But since his outburst of anger... Well, Veidja didn't quite know whether to be relieved or even pleased that he more or less let her be. Didn't try to influence her. Although he still insisted on taking her mana with her. But now the warmonger just looked around in silence and seemed to long for the end of these meetings almost as much as she did.

Of course it had shaken her. She had felt his rage with every fibre of her body when he had pressed her against the wall and fed her these images. These cruelties. It had taken her quite a while to be able to push those visions even partially away. And yet...

She hadn't quite understood what had happened. She still had the strangely pungent odour in her nose. And the fact that he ignored her, that he didn't answer her question, wasn't necessarily unusual, but after the intensity with which he had come on to her, she would have expected at least some kind of reaction from him. Instead, he had simply left.

Perhaps it was also a form of punishment. Because it had actually worsened for her because she couldn't find any clarity. No answers. She had wanted to sort it out and he wouldn't let her. Even if clarity was probably the wrong word for it. She just wanted to hear his voice again because there was something she couldn't understand.

However, that was the way it was.

Maybe she should really be glad that he was leaving her alone most of the time. Well, she was, actually. It gave her more time to ponder and look for a way out. Because if there was one thing she didn't want, it was to fall into the hands of some demonlord. Well, even more than she already did.

Just brooding alone was no solution in any case, so she had decided to take a trip and walked down the corridors with the captain in tow. But again, everything was just the same. The angel had once found the gate that had denied her access to the garden. She would have liked to go in, but she hadn't been able to. She had recognised the gate from her visit with N'Arahn some time ago, but she had been unable to open it. He seemed to be particularly protective of this area of his fortress.

Apart from that, she had only discovered quarters that she might have preferred not to see. She had found the arena and the throne room. But it seemed that some areas of the fortress were simply inaccessible to her. Which in turn would explain why the demonlord didn't bother to prevent her from walking the corridors.

Today, Veidja was quite lost in thought and didn't even really see where she was going. She just wanted to move.

When she came to a passageway, she didn't intend to pay any attention to it at first. But then a hot breeze blew over her skin and she involuntarily turned towards it. Shadows flickered in the corridor, unlike the already constantly changing light conditions caused by lava rivulets or torches. The light source seemed larger. More powerful.

And it was something new.

If she couldn't do anything else, maybe she could find some distraction in this new place. The captain didn't stop her from turning into the corridor, so she walked along it carefully, curious to see what awaited her.

When the corridor opened up after a bend into a large room that radiated terrible heat, Veidja realised that she could have known what she was heading towards. Of course there had to be a place like this. What could it mean if it got really hot in a fortress in the Red Depths? She had come to a forge.

In this forge, crawlers and other lesser demons, apparently created for their task, were constantly at work. Pools of lava heated up the room even more. The air was thick with smoke and metallic flavour. Its odours were those of the demonlord, but much more intense, almost distilled. Which wasn't exactly pleasant for the angel.

Veidja almost turned around when she realised that she would not only meet N'Arahn's servants here. The lord of the fortress was standing at one of the anvils and seemed to be repairing his own armour. His every movement was vigour and precision. He clearly knew what he was doing. The sight of the demonlord absorbed in his work was mesmerising to Veidja in a way. N'Arahn's face showed concentration, but he also seemed almost relaxed. She would not have thought that he would take care of such a task himself. But then again... Who did he trust enough to put his protection in their hands?

The angel couldn't back down anymore. She was sure that he had noticed her, and to leave now would mean admitting that she was afraid of him. At least in his eyes. And yes, sure, he had frightened her, she could hardly deny that. But she wouldn't let the demon intimidate her for good.

So she tried to ignore him and walked into the smithy as if she were inspecting it. As if she was entitled to do so. What she then found on a stone pedestal did throw her off her stride. In addition to the pieces of the demonlord's armor and two black blades, she saw her own armor lying there.

Her broken sword had apparently also been recovered from the sands of the arena. She had regretted the loss, but it was the way of war. And if the arena came close to anything, it was her personal Eternal Battle. The battleangel never thought she would see her sword again. Why should anyone here have cared what weapon she used? Why should the demonlord care about wasting energy on repairing a sword?

But here it was. Broken, but it was still there. A piece of familiarity, a piece of home. And Veidja realised that she would like to put it back together again.

She wanted to try. Maybe they would hold her back. But she wouldn't let them stop her from trying.

She had patched up her equipment so many times before. And this place certainly wasn't the Forge of Light, but it was probably just as good. And there was definitely no shortage of heat here, just as there was no shortage of tools of all kinds and of the highest quality.

So the angel set to work. Nobody stopped her from heating the sword parts, grabbing the hammer and working the metal. She noticed an interesting feature of N'Arahn's forge: although she was working so close to several heat sources and without protective clothing, the temperature was tolerable for her skin. Nevertheless, she was able to bring the material of the sword to a state in which it was perfect for the impact of the hammer. The air was also almost difficult to breathe due to the intensity of the odours. But the smoke didn't scratch her throat and once she got used to it, she breathed as normal and steady.

Veidja was completely immersed in her familiar task and enjoyed the work, which she had also found enriching rather than a chore at White Mountain. The circumstances and working conditions were different here, but she could fix her sword and that was all she wanted right now.

It wouldn't be quite as good as back home, because she couldn't use her powers. But at least...

At that moment, a hand was placed on her shoulder and the angel flinched. N'Arahn.

His sudden touch caused a brief shock. Veidja closed her eyes for the length of a blink. Perhaps she had been more deeply disturbed than she had wanted to admit.

But the demonlord wasn't even looking at her, as far as she could tell from the corner of her eye. He was looking at her sword and suddenly she felt a connection open up between N'Arahn and her, without her being able to stop it. Her first reaction was resistance, but then she understood what the demon was doing: he was channeling shadow power into her. He made it available to her as a tool, as she would otherwise have used her own powers. Even though this energy felt alien to Veidja, this time it was not bound to a purpose. It was not a shackle, not a cage. She could use it to do her job better.

Veidja felt the sword on the anvil in front of her, sensed the texture of the metal, could fuse the pieces back together properly. Not just through heat and the force of her blows, but on a deeper level.

She allowed the shadow power to flow through her, surrendering to these strange and yet somehow familiar currents. Veidja did not know if she should find it wrong, if the use of this energy should defile her. But right now it was good. Because it was exactly what she had wanted, what she had missed. And the demonlord did nothing but let the shadows continue to flow. He didn't look at her, he didn't speak to her. He looked past her, at the angel's hands, which were doing the same work that he himself had just been absorbed in.

Perhaps Veidja's impression was wrong. Perhaps it was her imagination. But she thought she sensed something else through the flow, through the connection. Fascination? A sense of bond? Understanding?

It was a strange situation. For a moment, Veidja was simply filled with gratitude. Gratitude to be able to create something, to put something back together that was important to her. And that, at least just now, without paying a price for it.

Veidja had barely made the last move when N'Arahn's hand detached from her shoulder. The demonlord silently turned away from her and went back to mending his own armor.

Briefly, Veidja felt the sting of loss; there was an emptiness that was only now being felt again. She shook off this useless sensation. What remained was the very special warmth of the demonlord's hand on her skin, standing out against the heat of the forge.