** Chapter 5 : The Forge of Time**

  Thorne's eyes fluttered open, but the world before him was not the familiar battlefield he had just fought and bled on. Instead, everything seemed... different. The air was crisp, but there was a subtle warmth to it, a feeling of safety that seemed far removed from the chaos he had just endured. His body, which had felt broken just moments ago, now felt strangely whole, as though he had just woken from a long sleep rather than a near-death experience.

  His chest no longer burned with the agony of the battle, and the familiar ache of his muscles had faded away. In fact, as he took in his surroundings, he noticed that he was no longer surrounded by the bloodied remnants of war or the remnants of fallen monsters. He stood on solid ground, but it was different ground—a worn path covered in soft earth, leading toward a sturdy, stone structure in the distance. The air smelled of wood, steel, and the faint scent of something burning. A forge.

  He turned in place, eyes widening as he recognized the landscape: it was the village of Eldoria, but... different. The people around him were not those of his time, but rather figures from his youth—villagers going about their daily business in peace. A few were carrying bundles of wood, others were working in the fields, and the air was filled with the sounds of a simpler time.

  A cold chill ran down Thorne's spine. He realized that he had somehow traveled back in time, to a moment long before the monsters ever came to ravage his home. Before he had fought on the battlefield, before he had become the warrior who wielded a hammer of legend.

  beacon of warmth and wisdom, much as it had in his youth. His heart tightened in his chest as he gazed upon the man who had taught him everything he knew about the forge. Haldor, with his broad shoulders and weathered face, was more than just a mentor—he had been a father to Thorne. He had shown him the world, taught him patience and discipline, and instilled in him a sense of purpose that now felt more critical than ever.

  But standing before him now, in this surreal moment, Thorne felt something deeper stir within him. A pain he couldn’t quite name twisted inside him, not from any wound of the body, but from something deeper—an emotional ache that seemed to reach to his very soul.

  A memory surfaced, one of a younger Thorne working diligently at the forge under the tutelage of Haldor, the master blacksmith of Eldoria. Haldor had been a towering figure, both in stature and in spirit, a man of immense skill and even greater kindness. He had taught Thorne the art of smithing, showing him how to shape steel and pour life into the weapons and tools that would sustain his village.

  Thorne’s heart skipped a beat as he felt the weight of the memory settle over him. Haldor had been like a father to him. But why had he been sent back here? Why had fate chosen this moment to return him to the days before the invasion?

  Suddenly, a familiar voice called out from behind him. "Thorne! There you are, lad!" Thorne turned to see the towering figure of Haldor himself, standing near the forge. His broad shoulders and long, graying beard were unmistakable. The same face that had always worn a welcoming smile now held a slight frown of concern as he took in Thorne’s confused expression.

  "You look like you've seen a ghost," Haldor chuckled, walking over to him with a steady, purposeful gait. "What’s got you so far off in thought?"

  Thorne opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. How could he explain? The shard, the battle, the strange, glowing tattoo that had appeared on his hand... None of it made sense. And yet, somehow, in this moment, standing before the man who had shaped him into who he was, it seemed as though the pieces were beginning to fall into place.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Thorne’s throat tightened, his words caught in his chest. He wanted to say so much—to explain everything, to tell Haldor what had happened to him, how he had fought in the future, how he had been given another chance at life, and yet... there were no words for the storm of emotions inside him.

  Instead, he simply stared at Haldor, eyes welling with unshed tears. His voice, when it finally came, was thick with emotion. “I thought I had lost everything, Haldor. I thought the world I knew... was gone.”

  Haldor studied him quietly, his wise old eyes not searching for answers, but simply offering understanding. He had always known Thorne better than Thorne had known himself. “But you haven’t lost everything, lad. You’re standing right here before me.” He stepped forward, his hand settling on Thorne's shoulder, a gesture of quiet reassurance

  Haldor’s eyes softened further, and there was a deep, knowing silence between them. Thorne felt a quiet sob rise in his chest but held it back. Haldor was the one person he could be vulnerable with—the only one who had ever seen him not as a warrior, but as a man struggling to find his place in the world.

  “Lad,” Haldor said, his voice soft but firm, “you’ve always had that strength inside of you. That light was there, even when you didn’t see it. But it wasn’t this power, this glowing mark. It was the fire in your heart. That’s what makes you who you are. Not the hammer you wield, but the spirit that drives it.”

  Thorne nodded, but his gaze drifted to the forge. The flames flickered, casting an orange glow on the surrounding stone walls. The rhythmic sound of the hammer striking steel echoed in the distance, a sound that had always been familiar, comforting. But now, it felt different. The forge was no longer just a place of work—it was a symbol of the trials he would face, the strength he had to find within himself.

  As he stood there, a feeling began to stir within him. The golden light that had once pulsed through his veins, the power that had inexplicably connected him to something greater than himself, was now more present than ever. It wasn’t just a power—it was a calling.

  The glowing tattoo on his hand pulsed gently, its design shifting and growing, expanding outward like a living thing. It was no longer just an etching—it was a manifestation of the power he had come to wield. And with it came a deep, resonating knowledge. His time in the future, the battle, the shard—all of it had led him to this moment.

  “Thorne,” Haldor said, his voice quieter now, “Do you know what it means to be a true blacksmith?”

  Thorne turned back to Haldor, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

  “To be a blacksmith,” Haldor continued, “is to shape the world around you. But it’s not just about hammering steel . It’s about understanding the material and removing the impurities in them by folding and hammering, knowing its strengths and weaknesses. A true craftsman doesn’t just make weapons—he forges them with purpose for a better future .”

  Thorne swallowed, the weight of Haldor’s words settling over him. For the first time, it wasn’t just the steel that mattered. It was the purpose behind it—the duty to create something that would protect, something that would stand the test of time.

  “I think I understand,” Thorne said, his voice steady.

  “Good,” Haldor nodded. “Then it’s time you learned the true meaning of this craft. The work we do here isn’t just for the village. It’s for the future. And if you’re to truly master this, lad, you must forge not just the steel—but your own soul.”

  The weight of Haldor’s words hung in the air as Thorne absorbed them. He knew, deep in his heart, that this was his path. This was his purpose. Not just to wield the hammer, but to forge himself into something more. The trials, the battles, the strange power—it all had meaning now. It was guiding him toward something greater.

  The tattoo on his hand seemed to burn brighter for a moment, and for the first time since he had been thrust into this new, strange world of power and loss, Thorne allowed himself to feel hope.

  “You’ve shaped me, Haldor,” Thorne murmured, “but I have so much more to learn. I think I’m just beginning.”

  Haldor smiled, his rugged face breaking into a grin. “You always were stubborn, lad. But that’s why you’ll get there. I have no doubt about that.”

  In that moment, the two stood in silence. The golden light of Thorne’s tattoo flickered once more, brighter this time, though it remained invisible to all but him. And as Haldor clasped his shoulder, Thorne realized that the past wasn’t just a memory—his bond with this man, this place, and this purpose was what had brought him back.

  The trials ahead, the battles he had yet to face, all of it would be carried with the knowledge that his heart, his purpose, was forged here—in the flames of the forge and the unyielding strength of love and mentorship.

  And with that thought, the world around him seemed to shift again. The forge glowed brighter, the flames of time twisting and distorting like the edge of a blade. In an instant, he was back—back in the present, in the middle of the battle-scarred village of Eldoria.

  But he wasn’t the same.

  He now carried the lessons of the past, the strength of his forge, and the deep bond to the people he had sworn to protect. The glowing tattoo on his hand pulsed with energy, no longer just a mark but a symbol of his transformation. And as the night sky above Eldoria settled into quiet peace, Thorne knew—he was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

  The forge of time had tempered him, and now he was stronger, wiser, and more determined than ever.