The sounds of a hammer against steel reverberated from the small wooden shack. It was a strong piercing sound which also came with a smell. Not a real or tangible smell, but a smell that came purely with the sheer power of the sound. And with that sound came groans and complaints. As it was just dawn, maybe earlier to consider it night still, the response was normal. Some had grown accustomed to the noise as they had been hearing it for the past twelve years. But those new to the village, or children just above that age only grew annoyed.

Though despite their astounding annoyance, all would always grow accustomed to it. Rather than just grow accustomed, the village would even use it as their noise to start the day. And thus the village gained its name–the Early rising town of Vale.

And from that place where the sound came from, in the small small wooden shack. Lived a woman. Always dirty and covered in oil grease. Hammering in the morning just before sunrise; smoldering the metals until late noon; often sharpening until early evening. It was such a methodical and consistent sound that it replaced the clocks for everyone but the woman in that small wooden shack. Occasionally the sounds wouldn’t happen. Maybe once a month, and villagers would be late to open shop. Late to check their stock. Late to feed their crying cats. Late to wake their kids for morning classes in the off-coast town.

No one would get mad at these incidents. As they just blamed themselves, and went back to keeping time with a clock, until they, of course, fell back into the old habit of waking up from the reverberating of a hammer on steel. As it would happen. Today was one of those days. Where the hammer did not meet steel. And instead, nobody in the village woke in the early morning.

Rather, it comforted many of the adults, and some of the misbehaving children, since most were hungover, as yesterday was a festival. A festival to celebrate the anniversary of their founding. Not ‘their’ referring to the village. But rather the Empire. It's been a whole three centuries since the first king sat atop their golden throne, not that anybody was counting the exact date. Aside from maybe, the scholar youth that were constantly bullied by their peers.

Well not that it really mattered to Alana. She just wanted to continue with her work. The work of hammering against metal. The joys of her muscles tearing up in a humid room, that mayhap smell of mold. Well, last night was the first time she cleaned herself up in a long while. She wanted to see it. The festival that is. So she washed after she finished her work. She let her silky red hair fall down behind her back, rather than tie it back into a long tail. And let the village at least see her face for the day.

Ironically, and also somewhat sad, most of the villagers didn’t even recognize her until she spoke up. Not because they hadn’t seen her recently, just because they hadn’t seen her clean recently. Almost everyone used her services. Anybody that did recognize her only did because of her uniquely pearl green eyes. Almost translucent against any light. But vibrant against the light of kindle.

Alana was quiet throughout the festival. As she normally was. She didn’t dress any more fancifully than she normally would, just her half top and bandages covering her chest. The rope she kept around her waist because the cost of a belt was too expensive. And the black knee-length shorts with at least four pockets. Before going out she almost forgot to unravel her hammer from her waist.
Rather, she woke up the next morning, hungover, nude, and beside a man she had never seen before. Before not recognizing the man, she had never even seen his tone of skin before. It was a dark, chocolate brown. So wonderfully vibrant and sun kissed. And only after processing that notion, did it cross her mind the situation she was in. “♥♥♥♥.”