Forgebranch Directive | Coveborne Collection – Entry #3 The trick isn’t surviving the wild—it’s deciding what version of yourself you’ll be when you come back out of it. The path to Forgebranch wasn’t marked, only whispered about in the corners of a crooked map I found stitched into the lining of an old satchel. I followed it on a hunch and a dare, through thickets of bramble and smoke-silvered ash. By dusk, I’d arrived at a clearing that smelled like iron and rain. Wrought and Wild is not a gentle place. The wind here sings with sparks and resolve. You don’t walk through it—you endure it. And then, if you’re lucky, it teaches you how to bloom through ruin. There’s a forge tucked beneath the roots of a shattered tree. The coals never fully die, and the tools nearby hum with stories of what they’ve made. I left my tote on a branch overnight; in the morning, it bore a print I hadn’t added—a twisted antler wreath and a wild bloom etched in coalblack ink. It hasn’t washed out since. My tumbler scorched my fingers when I filled it with creek water—just for a moment. I think it prefers coffee. The notebook, meanwhile, resists erasure. I tried to rewrite a page and the ink simply moved, scrawling a new version in the margins: Not everything needs refining. Some things are meant to stay rough around the edges. Wrought and Wild isn’t chaos—it’s clarity under pressure. It’s the song you hum with blood on your knuckles and a grin on your face. It’s that hard-won softness that only comes after you’ve survived yourself. Inside this set: A 20oz tumbler with iron-forged blooms, wrapped in windswept patterns. A hardcover notebook that remembers your unfiltered truth. A double-sided tote, wild on one side, resolute on the other. And a collection of handmade pieces built to remind you: soft is not the opposite of strong. Filed by: I.E. Larkwell – Emberscribe, Branch 7