The forge had settled into one of those rare, rare moments of stillness.
With Mara gone to meet the other guild leaders and the flames burning at a gentle whisper in the brazier, the building seemed to exhale slowly, languidly, peacefully.
Runes pulsed quietly in the floor and walls, a heartbeat in sync with the place's soul, and that of the woman who had built it. Even without her present, Mara's Forge felt watched over.
Protected.
Miles stood near the window, his fingers resting lightly against the glass, eyes watching the drifting fog outside. People moved in the streets beyond, players, crafters, couriers, wanderers, but they seemed dim, almost distant.
Like actors on a stage seen from the wings.
