Dazzling light filled the chamber, not that any would ever call it the brilliance of a midday sun. No, this was quite the opposite. The light of a hundred full moons which matched the rhythmic and chiming strikes of a smiths’ hammers falling on anvils. Not hammers of steal or anvils of iron. No, both were made of silver polished to a high shine engraved with spells which channeled the moonlight through each. And with each stroke of the hammer, the smiths of this forge honed the dreams of the mortals below in solemnity.
