The soft clinking of metal echoed from the corner of the room, where Angela was busy with her blacksmith tools. Meanwhile, Alaric sat in a large chair near the fireplace, idly twirling a cup of tea in his hand. The room felt warm, illuminated by the soft glow from the crackling fire, creating a peaceful atmosphere—a stark contrast to the chaos they had endured in the past few days.
Zanuba sat restlessly at the long dining table, while Piere stood by the door, staring outside with a slightly furrowed brow, though his eyes didn't really focus on the scenery. The room was quiet, but an invisible tension hung in the air.
"Angela…" Alaric finally broke the silence, his voice soft, his eyes still fixed on the cup in his hand. "What exactly happened in Direwitch? Why has the place changed so drastically?"
