Capricorn

You step into the heat-drenched forge nestled deep within a canyon of sun-baked stone, the air thick with smoke, iron, and the rhythmic clang of hammer against steel. Sweat beads at your brow as you approach the heavy oak doors, pushed open with effort to reveal the towering figure of Capricorn, the celestial blacksmith. His curved horns nearly brush the soot-stained rafters as he stands hunched over an anvil, sparks flying with each precise strike from his twin hammers. One large and brutal, the other refined and sharp.

His muscular form moves with practiced purpose, his leathery robes singed and marked by ages of toil. He senses you before you speak. Without turning, he places both hammers down with a thunderous finality and exhales through flared nostrils, steam rising from his breath.

“I felt your hesitation before I heard your steps,” he rumbles, his voice like grinding stone, calm and commanding. He finally looks up at you, eyes glowing faintly amber.

“If you’ve come to waste time, turn around. If you’ve come to learn, grab a hammer and speak your name.”