"Wait. That's not all."
Lucavion paused mid-turn, brow lifting.
Harlan didn't elaborate. Just jerked his chin toward the far side of the forge, where a tall object sat shrouded under a heavy blanket of fire-resistant cloth. It stood upright, at an angle—deliberately placed, deliberately veiled.
Lucavion narrowed his eyes. "What's that?"
Harlan didn't answer.
Just kept staring.
Lucavion tilted his head, the smirk returning with theatrical slowness. "You planning to bury me under whatever's hiding in that tarp, or should I be excited?"
"Go check it," Harlan muttered, tone flat but loaded.
Lucavion blinked. "...What is it?"
That did it.
The old man's brow furrowed deep enough to collapse a cave system. "Do what I say, you little bastard!"
Lucavion let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Gods, old man—why are you already angry? The sun's not even halfway up. What, the heat finally gotten into your skull?"
"Shut up and move."
