Gray Rock City. The private backyard of the Anvil and Sparks workshop.
A thick, iron-bound wooden door separated this space from the noisy, brightly-lit public forging area out front, making it much quieter by comparison.
The courtyard was walled with roughly-cut gray stone. Piles of semi-finished metal ingots and discarded slag sat in the corners, leaving a flat, open space in the center where the ground had been packed solid from constant foot traffic.
The faint smell of metal, coke, and cooling oil permeated the air, a scent distinctly different from the rest of Gray Rock City.
Sunlight slanted down from over the high walls, casting sharp, geometric shadows on the cold ground.
At that moment, on one side of the courtyard, Ellis stood before Roland, his young face wearing the serious expression of an academy tutor.
This was despite the fact that his "student" appeared to be his age, and even possessed a more profound presence.
