Molten Question Forge
A horned smith hammers a glowing blade on an anvil in a cavern lit by rivers of molten orange. Sparks and searing light carve the words WHERE VOJTA? into the steel, the question steaming like a sign above the forge. Stone faces in the arches watch in carved silence, their stern features turning every blow into testimony.
The hammer strikes fall in a measured, accelerating rhythm, a counted urgency that pushes molten metal toward meaning. No answer rises from the flames or the shadowed corners; Vojta remains unfound, and the forged question holds firm. The light feels numinous and skeptical at once, a bound promise of discovery tempered by doubt as the smith keeps working.
