Randor's talent was undeniable.
His home, though modest and designed for a single occupant, held an expansive area dedicated to smithing. Despite this, no weapons were in sight. Instead, the room was adorned with beautifully crafted shelves displaying statues and other intricate souvenirs, each bearing Randor's signature. If the world knew these pieces were his, they would fetch a fortune.
"My room."
Despite his evident dislike for me, Randor was willing to speak privately.
"Amael," Celeste grasped my arm, her gaze stern and filled with unspoken warnings. That look, strangely familiar, held a depth that resonated with me.
"Don't worry," I reassured her, stepping into the room.
Celeste sat quietly on the sofa as Randor and I entered his private space. Once the door closed, I took a seat opposite him, the tension between us palpable.
