Chapter Text
The ring of metal against metal was as much a part of Base Camp as the wind rolling through the cliffs. Even at night, when most everyone else settled into their tents, Gemma’s forge still burned, embers glowing brightly against the darkness—the rhythmic clang of her hammer thrumming through the chilly desert air.
The Hunter sat on a nearby crate, arms draped over his knees as he watched her work.
He hadn’t meant to stop by—or at least, that’s what he told himself.
After a long hunt in the Windward Plains, he’d gone to drop his battered Greatsword off for repairs and a long overdue upgrade. But instead of leaving for the night, he’d found himself staying, watching her move to-and-fro across her open-air workshop.
The forge suited her.
The firelight caught in her messy blonde braids, the beads of sweat on her collarbone glistening as she worked. Unlike the casual, sharp-witted demeanor she carried in conversation, here she was focused, deliberate—every movement honed by years of experience. It was one of the few times he could see her completely serious.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, but he found that he didn’t much care.
Gemma glanced up mid-swing, catching his stare just as she brought her hammer down with a decisive clang.
"Huh. You're still here. You staring ‘cause you’re impressed?" Gemma asked, breaking the silence. "Or ‘cause you’re tryna to decide if I’m actually improving it?"
"Should I be worried?" he asked sarcastically.
She snorted, flipping the blade over on the anvil. "You keep bringing me broken weapons and now you wanna ask?"
"Touché."
"Uh-huh," she said, rubbing an arm across her sweaty forehead.
With a final, decisive strike, she set down her hammer and carried the blade to the quenching trough. Steam hissed violently as she plunged the glowing metal into the water, her grip firm despite the heat radiating from the weapon. She pulled it out, inspecting the blade critically before nodding to herself.
She tugged off her hide glove, tossed it onto a barrel, and flexed her fingers to shake off the stiffness before carrying the weapon to the grindstone. Bright sparks danced along the edge as steel met stone, the rhythmic scrape of her steady motions filling the quiet between them.
As the last of the sparks died, Gemma lifted the blade and gave it a final once-over, tilting it in the orange forge-light. She pulled off her goggles, letting them rest around her glistening neck as she breathed out a slow sigh. Her flushed face glowed from the forge’s lingering heat, damp strands of hair clinging to her temple. Rolling her shoulders, she turned to the Hunter and smirked.
"Alright, Hunter, moment of truth." She grabbed the Greatsword with one hand, flipping it effortlessly so the handle faced him. "Give it a look-see."
The Hunter stood and moved closer to the smithy, keen to see how she’d modified his weapon. The forge’s enveloping heat pressed against his armor, but he hardly noticed as his eyes scanned the Greatsword up and down, nodding in quiet approval. He ran his gloved fingers along the newly honed edge before hefting it to test its balance. Even without swinging, he could feel the difference—lighter, deadlier, lethal as ever.
Having surpassed his expectations, he looked up at the expectant smithy. "Not bad," he admitted.
"Not bad?" Gemma scoffed, crossing her arms. "You wound me."
The Hunter raised a wry brow at the smithy. "Should I be complimenting you every time you do your job?"
"Y’know, Hunter. You’re lucky I didn’t have any pending requests when you showed up here," she said, wiping her hand on a nearby towel. "I know a lotta hunters who would kill for my handiwork."
"Is that why you’re always holed up in the forge? Too many admirers chasing you around camp?" he teased affably.
"Of course," she said, grinning. "If they get too close I start lobbing hot coals at them."
"I’d like to avoid that if at all possible," the Hunter said unconcernedly.
"Smart man."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, you always deliver quality work, Gemma," the Hunter said, strapping the sword to his back.
"Yeah, yeah. You think buttering me up is gonna get ya a discount?" she asked, shaking her head with a lopsided smile.
"I’d never dream of it," the Hunter said with a quiet chuckle, settling back down on his crate.
As the conversation lulled, Gemma turned back toward the furnace, beginning the process of shutting down her forge for the night. She parted the coals with her tongs, allowing the flames to gradually die down. Then, with practiced ease, she moved around her workspace, put up her various tools, hung her hammer back on its hook, and tossed her goggles onto the workbench.
By the time Gemma turned back around, the forge was little more than a smoldering glow. With a leisurely exhale, she stretched her arms high above her head, fingers interlocked, her back arching as she worked out the tension in her shoulders. A soft groan of relief slipped out her parted lips as her joints popped.
That’s when the Hunter, who had been contentedly basking in the forge’s warm atmosphere, finally spoke up.
"I’ve been wondering, Gemma. Why smithing?"
Gemma paused mid-stretch, lowering her arms as she glanced over at him. "You mean, why not be a hunter?"
He shrugged. "You know your way around weapons. You're strong enough. Your skills are practically legendary in the Guild. Just wondered—what keeps you here?"
"Hmm," she hummed, mulling over his question. "I like the heat. And fixing things," she started, first stating the obvious. Then, with a smirk, she added, "Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you guys don’t go into the field with dull weapons and busted armor. That’s just embarrassing."
"So you don’t like hunting?"
"Didn’t say that," she shot back, grabbing a nearby stool and plopping onto it.
"I like what you guys do. I respect it. I 'dunno if you recall, but—I mentioned that I traveled with a hunting caravan for a while when I was younger. Even back then, hunting was never my thing. I’ve been doing this for about as long as I can remember," she said, gesturing around at her darkened forge.
"What was life like before the caravan—at home?" the Hunter asked, curiously. "Not that I mean to pry."
Gemma looked down, hesitating for a moment.
"I grew up in Harth—a Troverian settlement. Never knew my human parents, not that I much cared, though," she said, matter-of-factly. "Far as I’m concerned, the Troverians who raised me are my family."
The Hunter’s brows raised in surprise. Of all places to call home, a Troverian settlement was oddly fitting for a mouthy smithy like Gemma.
"Sounds like they were good to you," he said evenly.
"Yeah. They were," she said with a nod, idly running a hand through her hair before continuing. "My Ma was a smithy. Brilliant woman. She taught me everything she could about forging and jewel-crafting. My Pops was a digger—and the village chieftain at that. Guess you could say I was always destined for this type of work."
She reached down for her canteen, taking a quick sip before continuing.
"One day, when I was old enough, Ma took me to the forge to help her make a present for Pops—a new hammer for their anniversary. She wanted it to be a surprise, our little secret. She let me watch over her shoulder, teaching me little things along the way. The right way to fold the metal, how to listen to the heat," she said, sighing wistfully. "I remember thinking she had some kind of magic in her hands—I wanted that magic, too. When it was finished, Pops took it everywhere. Never used a different hammer again."
Gemma smiled faintly, lost in the memory, her fingers lazily tracing the rim of her canteen. The gleam of nostalgia flickered in her eyes, but then—like a candle snuffed out—it was gone. Her hands stilled. The smile faded. Slowly, her gaze drifted, unfocused, slipping past him, past the forge, past the present entirely.
It was distant. Hollow.
"Ma passed away not long after that—a month, maybe. She fell extremely ill. I was so young back then—I swore I’d find a cure. I thought that maybe… maybe if I just learned enough, I could fix her."
Her voice wavered, trailing off as her jaw tightened. She pressed her lips together, swallowing against the lump in her throat before letting out a shaky, uneven breath.
"I used to sit by her bedside, sketching out designs for braces, tools—anything that might help her stand again. Lift a hammer again. But I knew…"
Her breath hitched.
"I knew she wasn’t getting better." Gemma turned away slightly, the glow of the torches catching the shine of her eyes just before she lowered them, lashes damp.
"The last thing my Ma ever taught me… was that no matter how hard you try… some things can’t be fixed," she said, her voice raw as she determinedly powered through her own grief. Then, before she could stop them, the tears broke free, slipping silently down her freckled cheeks. She sniffed, blinking hard, as if trying to stubbornly will them away, but they fell regardless.
The Hunter felt something twist in his chest.
The torches crackled in the distance, their flames flickering in the cool night air, shadows dancing along the rocky cliffs that loomed over camp.
"Gemma… I’m sorry. I didn’t know—"
She exhaled sharply, messy blonde locks swaying as she shook her head. "It’s fine, Hunter. It all happened a long time ago," she said, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms before clearing her throat. "Damn… I don’t think I’ve reminisced this hard in years," she admitted with a breathy chuckle. "Didn’t mean to get all heavy on you," she said, her shimmering blue eyes met his, a flicker of something unguarded passing between them.
"You don’t have to apologize, Gemma," the Hunter said, his voice steady as he met her gaze with a polite tilt of his head. "I’m here to listen, if you’re willing."
"I appreciate that, Hunter."
A pause stretched between them as Gemma took another sip from her canteen, regaining her composure. The Hunter sat silently, letting her words settle, turning them over in his mind.
When he finally spoke, his tone was measured but curious. "What happened next?"
"Well, after that it was just me and Pops. He held onto that hammer like it was a piece of her. Used it for years, even when it’s age started to show." She breathed out slowly. "Then one day, it broke. Just snapped in half. Never seen him look so lost."
She shifted, a somber smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "So I made him a new one." her fist clenched as if remembering the weight of the hammer in her hands. "Poured everything I had into it. Spent weeks making sure it was perfect. And when I finally gave it to him, he was so… happy. Said I’d finally surpassed her."
She laughed, but there was something tight in her voice. "It wasn’t easy, but we moved forward. Together."
"You’ve come a long way, Gemma," the Hunter sincerely.
"Yeah, well... didn’t have much of a choice, did I?" she said dryly. But there was no real bite to it—no deflection, no attempt to downplay what she’d built for herself. If anything, there was a quiet understanding in the way she looked at him, a silent acknowledgment that she knew he saw her. Someone who had carved her place into the world with her own two hands.
Just like him.
Since arriving in the Forbidden Lands, the Hunter hadn’t really gotten to spend much time with the rest of Avis Unit outside of work. And for the first time, he realized something. For all her witty remarks, for all her confidence and effortless laughter, Gemma had palpable weight to her.
A depth beneath the fire.
And he liked it.
"Anyways, enough about me. What about you, oh grizzled veteran?" Gemma asked, gesturing at him with a hand.
"Grizzled?" he asked with lighthearted indignation. "I’m not even that much older than you."
Gemma arched a brow. "Oh please, Hunter. I know you’ve seen some shit. I've been traveling with hunters since I was a kid." Her lips twitched upward as she raised a cocky eyebrow at him. "That thousand-yard stare? I’d bet a lot of Zenny you’ve got some good stories. Seems fair, after I just spilled my guts to you. How’d ya wind up hunting monsters?"
The Hunter let out a slow breath, voice low and uneasy. "I promise I’ll tell you later. Just not tonight, Gemma."
Her smirk faded, lips pressing together in quiet contemplation as she studied him. The Hunter held her inquisitive gaze, guilt settling in his stomach—she had been open with him, yet he offered nothing in return. But unlike Gemma, he hadn’t made peace with his past. Where she had her father to ground her, to remind her of her worth, he had no such anchor. At least— not back home.
Finally, she nodded. "Alright," she said, leaning back on her stool. "But don’t think I’ll forget."
"Didn’t expect you to," the Hunter replied honestly.
That seemed to satisfy her. She yawed before pushing herself to her feet with a stretch. "Well, since you’re being all broody and mysterious, I’m calling it. I need sleep, and you need to clear out of my forge before I start charging you rent."
The Hunter chuckled, standing as well. "Yes, ma’am."
Gemma rolled her eyes, but the satisfied glint in her expression didn’t go unnoticed. They stood for a moment, the easy banter settling into something quieter. Her fingers trailed down her arm, almost shyly.
"And… thanks for listening, Hunter," she said, softly. "I really do appreciate it."
"It's no bother, Gemma. I love listening to you talk," the Hunter said, lips curling in a faint, yet genuine smile. "And I meant what I said. You may not be a hunter, but you're a fighter through and through."
She let out a small huff, shaking her head as if brushing off the sentiment—but the warmth in her eyes lingered as he stepped past her toward his tent.
Behind him, her voice rang out, quick and teasing. "Y’know, I don’t care how long it takes—one day, I’m getting that story out of you."
He faltered, casting a glance over his shoulder. The torchlight caught the edges of the smithy’s silhouette, highlighting the way her hands rested on her hips, her head tilted in quiet challenge. He paused for a heartbeat before responding, his voice low but good-natured.
"I know."
Then, with a nod, "Good night, Gemma."
As he made his way through camp, the night air cool against his skin, he found himself already looking forward to the next time his gear needed repairs.