Echoes of the eruption split my ears as the bullet cracked into the workshop walls. Crooked cracks spiraled around a darkened hole, punched into the pristine stone; an unseemly eyesore to most, but a prize worth more to me than any painting or trophy.

I shook the ringing from my ears, looked to the desk across the room.

“It worked!” my wife shouted. “Koreck – it worked!” I lowered our device, grinned as she rose from behind the counter through the heavy curtain of smoke. She wore a wide smile, drew a deep breath of the chemical scent of expended thundersalt. A single strand of hair draped her features, dangling just beside her brightened eyes. “Again!” she called. With an eager nod I reset my aim.

Our prototype worked better than we could’ve imagined. I drew the hammer back, lips curling as the wheel turned with a click and lined up the next shot. I squeezed the trigger, watched as the mechanism slammed into the bronzed cap filled with our concoction of powdered quicksilver. Sparks flew into the cartridge, lit the treated paper and thundersalt with a loud crack, and spat another bullet into the brick façade to a shrill cheer.

Two more shots, Bam! Bam! At my wife’s urging, I loaded another four and fired again. She ran into my arms and pressed her forehead to mine in celebration. We spun, her fingers digging into my shoulders, and she squealed with delight.

We went straight to work, mixing mercury with alcohol and nitric acid to gaseous plumes and powdery crystals, wrapping more cartridges and forging bullets and caps. Hours passed like minutes as we smelted and shaped steel, as we ground charcoal to mix with sulfur and saltpeter. Our original design we left untouched, but we replaced the flintlock firing mechanism on our rifle with the new percussion hammer designed for our masterpiece.

“We’ll be able to do whatever we want, now,” Kheta said. “Once we give these to the Geren-thal, Koreck, we’ll be able to go wherever we want. To build whatever we want.”

I brushed the weapon with my fingers, swung my gaze up to her and wondered if she’d ever looked more beautiful than she had just then. Her hair was disheveled despite the tight knot, black smudges colored her face from the work, her forehead and exposed arms glistened with sweat from the glowering forge in the corner, but her smile was wide and earnest, her eyes twinkling in the light as she eyed our inventions. If I never saw anything else, I wouldn’t have minded.

She caught me staring, the amber of her cheeks shading red as her grin turned wry. She shoved against my shoulder, chuckled. I caught her wrist and gently pulled her closer. She smelled of work and grime – impossibly intoxicating. She eyed me from under her brows, let one rise in an arch. My hand cradled her cheek, thumbed away the grime, and she melted against me. I stepped closer, felt the humid mixing of our breath on my face, hooked a hand around her and lifted her onto the counter. She shot our inventions a glance, then dragged me closer, tearing my clothes away. Patience evaporated; everything disappeared. It was just her. Just us.

We ended on the floor, lying beside one another, panting. Her hand found mine, fingers curling together. “We’ll need a meeting with one of them,” she said sometime later. “One of the Fetans. Any of the four would do.”

“Someone else will need to shoot it,” I said, eyeing the barrel of the rifle that hung over the counter’s edge. “Can’t be one of us. Has to be someone who hasn’t used one before.”

“You’re right. Someone untrained – a civilian.” She turned, eyed me as I looked to her, smiling. She wiggled herself closer.