Walking along the bustling streets of Lentan City's Workshop District, Ivaim felt a familiar sense of ease. The hum of machinery, the acrid tang of molten metal, and the rhythmic clanging of hammers against steel seemed to ground him in the moment.
Adjusting the strap of his bag, his gaze landed on the faded signboard hanging outside a familiar building:
Harvin's Workshop
The simplicity of the name tugged a small grin onto his face.
"Creative," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
As he pushed the heavy wooden door open, the scent of oil and grease hit him, carrying with it a wave of nostalgia.
The cluttered interior was just as he remembered—half-assembled automatons leaned precariously against shelves, blueprints were strewn across tables, and crates of spare parts spilled into every available corner. It was chaotic, but in its own way, it felt alive.
But the calm was short-lived.
"You're late."
