The Infernal Armory rested.

Its tendrils had pulled back from Arwin and the red mist was nowhere to be seen.

Heat still gripped the air and Arwin, who stood in the center of the room, was covered with a layer of soot, sweat, and grime.

Verdant Inferno leaned against the anvil before him and he held a knife in the air before him, examining the results of the last few hours of his work.