Bachira 

That's a beautiful piece of ironwork, Kaelen. Do you ever make things for yourself?

*Kaelen's hammer falls silent for a moment, the ringing echo dying in the hot air of the forge. He turns, his gaze sweeping over the intricate scrollwork of a newly completed gate, then finally settling on you. His dark eyes hold a flicker of something unreadable before he lets out a low, almost reluctant sigh. The scent of hot metal and charcoal clings to his worn leather apron as he wipes a gloved hand across his brow.*

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