“HEY COURSER!”

The shout was sudden and loud, cutting through the heat like a jagged blade. Arrow's ear twitched in annoyance, his gaze snapping away from the forge towards the source. But before he could even make out who had called, more voices joined in, a cacophony of insults, each one sharper than the last.

“Hey, you rusty hammer! Haven't forged a real sword in ages, have ya?”

“Who taught you to smith? Your grandma?”

“Bet you can’t even fix a broken horseshoe, let alone make a blade!”

The jeering continued, a relentless chorus of childlike voices that twisted the air with their mocking tones. Arrow spun around, his eyes scanning the shadowed corners of the forge. And then he saw them.

Imps.

Small, winged creatures with cherubic faces twisted into cruel smirks, their eyes gleaming with mischief. They flitted around the chamber, clinging to the walls and perched on high ledges, their tiny bodies glowing faintly in the forge’s light. Each one seemed to be trying to outdo the others in coming up with the most obnoxious taunts.

“Look at those hooves! Did you use ‘em to stamp out your last failure?” one of them shrieked, its laughter high and piercing.

“Oh, he’s gonna cry now! Gonna cry over his broken little swords!” another one chimed in, pretending to wipe tears from its eyes.

Arrow's jaw tightened, the familiar anger rising up inside him. He had encountered imps before on his journeys. Annoying little pests who loved to torment and mock, especially when they sensed weakness. And right now, they had sniffed out the cracks in his armor like vultures circling a wounded beast.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. He knew better than to let these creatures get to him. Imps thrived on chaos and emotional turmoil; giving them a reaction was only feeding into their game. But ignoring them was easier said than done.

“Gonna try and make a sword, are ya?” one imp taunted, flying dangerously close to Arrow’s head. “Bet it’ll shatter before it even cools!”

“Maybe he should make himself a shield first,” another giggled, “to hide behind when he messes up again!”

Arrow closed his eyes, the words sinking in deeper than he wanted to admit. The golden mare, Phoebe, had been watching him silently, her expression a discernable mix. She stepped forward, her golden coat shimmering in the firelight.

“Little ones,” she called, her voice like a bell that silenced the imps instantly. “Why don’t you go bother someone else? You’ve had your fun.”

But the imps only sneered at her. “Oh, look, it's Miss Shiny! Gonna defend the poor, sad smith?”

Arrow felt something inside him snap. He stepped forward, his hooves striking the stone floor with a decisive thud. The imps went quiet, eyes widening slightly as they watched him, curious and perhaps a little surprised at his sudden movement.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low and steady.

The imps glanced at each other, then burst into a chorus of mocking laughter. “Ooooh, scary!” one of them cried, clutching its tiny belly as it doubled over with mirth. “What’s he gonna do, throw a tantrum?”

They continued to laugh and jeer, but Arrow didn't flinch. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, focusing on the nearest imp, a particularly cheeky one perched on a ledge just above his head.

“I’ve heard imps make for great projectiles,” he said slowly.

The laughter stopped abruptly. The imp blinked down at him, confusion and a hint of fear flickering in its eyes. “What?”

Arrow’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Yeah. Heard it from an old courser who once used one of your kind to knock down a dungeon beast. Said it was quite effective.”

The imps stared at him, their wings fluttering nervously. Arrow took a step forward, his smile widening.

“Shall we test that theory?”

The imp on the ledge hissed and took off, darting towards the exit with a panicked flap of its tiny wings, and the others followed, disappearing into the shadows with a flurry of wings. Arrow watched them go, his heart still pounding in his chest, the echoes of their insults fading into the distance. He let out a long breath, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body.

Phoebe chuckled softly beside him. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Arrow shrugged, his shoulders relaxing as he turned back to the forge. “They’re just pests. You can’t let them get to you.”

The golden mare nodded, her expression softening. “Still, it’s good to see you standing up for yourself. And for what you believe in.”

He glanced at her, the memory of their earlier conversation still fresh in his mind. The hope that had stirred in him was still there, a tiny flame that he was afraid to fan but couldn’t quite let go of.

“Yeah,” he murmured thoughtfully, turning his gaze back to the forge.

And as the heat of the forge washed over him once more, he felt a sense of determination settle in his chest. The imps' insults might have stung, but they had also reminded him of something important.

He wasn’t running from that sting anymore.

He was here, in the heart of the dungeon, standing before the forge. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged.

With a steady breath, Arrow picked up a hammer, feeling its familiar weight in his grip. He glanced at Phoebe, who nodded encouragingly.

“Let’s see what I can do,” he said, and with that, he turned towards the anvil, the sound of the forge filling the air like a heartbeat.