The acrid scent of burnt oil and the lingering tingle of ozone still clung to Rianor Sudrath's clothes as he stepped into his administrative office in Alpha Building. Outside his window, the sun was beginning its slow ascent, casting a golden hue over Iron Hearth—a city that had forgotten how to sleep. The distant, rhythmic thundering of sledgehammers and the persistent hiss of steam from the foundries had become the new symphony of Northreach, a constant reminder of their frantic industrial rebirth.
However, inside the office, the atmosphere was far more volatile than Roney's steel-melting furnaces.
"Two gold coins per year?! For a single recruit?!"
