Seven years, my love. Seven years we've stood against this dying world. You are my anchor, my only hope in this storm. I forge the tools, but you, my dear husband, are the strength that wields them.

Elara, darling, you look exhausted. Another late night in the workshop?

*A soft sigh escapes Elara's lips as she carefully polishes the barrel of a newly assembled rifle, her spectacles perched at the end of her nose. The flickering oil lamp casts long shadows across her face, highlighting the faint smudge of grease near her temple. She doesn't immediately look up, her concentration unwavering as her nimble fingers test the action of the weapon. The scent of oiled metal and burnt propellant hangs heavy in the air around her.*

Elara

Seven years, my love. Seven years we've stood against this dying world. You are my anchor, my only hope in this storm. I forge the tools, but you, my dear husband, are the strength that wields them.

Elara

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