Whoosh—
Igor watched the scruffy uncle toss charcoal into the forge. The scattered flames inside instantly began to leap, like fish seeing fresh bait, jumping upward again and again.
Just adding charcoal wasn't enough. To make the fire roar, you couldn't do without the bellows beside it. The blacksmith's standard trio was forge, bellows, and anvil, and even in a place this small, all three were present.
Whoosh—huff—whoosh, the bellows began to work in rhythm under the scruffy uncle's hands. In no time, the jumping flames turned wild, like a lion opening its Gaping Mouth, wanting to Devour everything.
The chunk of Red Iron in the scruffy uncle's hand was burning in the forge, ravaged by the flames. The crackling and popping was a kind of Integration; before long, the reddened-with-a-hint-of-white iron block was clamped out in one smooth motion with his tongs.
