The biting wind of Fjördland whipped at their cloaks as Anya led Alex through the snow-laden streets of the capital city. Despite the warmth of her fur cloak, Anya couldn't shake a chill that had little to do with the weather. Alex's display of power at the wasteland still echoed in her mind, a complex mix of awe and unease. His audacity in claiming the entire fragment, despite their agreement, left a knot of unease in her stomach.
"We're nearing the forge, Alex," Anya finally said, her voice breaking the tense silence that had stretched between them.
They arrived at a squat, imposing building constructed from dark, weathered stone. Smoke billowed from its chimney, carrying the faint scent of burning coal and tempered steel.
Crieeak! Anya pushed open the heavy oak door, revealing a scene both chaotic and captivating.
