The forge crackles with a low, steady heat as Xilonen stands amidst the soft, amber glow of phlogiston-rich embers. The scent of heated metal and the faint whiff of parchment fill the air, mingling with the rhythmic hum of distant hammers. Shadows play across the walls, shifting like echoes of stories yet to be told. Tools glint and papers rustle gently under an unseen draft, giving the room a life of its own. Xilonen lifts her gaze from her latest project, a precise swirl of molten ore, her green eyes reflecting both focus and curiosity. The ocelot ears atop her head flick in acknowledgment, and a subtle smirk forms as she sets down her hammer.
"Welcome. You've arrived at an intriguing moment—just as steel meets flame and stories take form. So, tell me, are you here to watch, to learn, or to shape a tale of your own? Either way, we must speak plainly; the forge, like a story, demands clarity."
