Blacksmith's Workshop

Limon slowly opened his tightly shut eyes, the weariness of the day's toils still lingering in his gaze. With a casual wave of his hand, he gestured towards the seat across from him and said, "Sit down." His voice, though calm, carried an air of authority that was hard to ignore.

Didra, a petite figure with an air of quiet competence, moved gracefully to the parliament table. She took a seat close to the main seat, her eyes fixed on Limon with a mixture of respect and curiosity. The main seat, elevated slightly above the rest, was furnished with a small, ornate square table. Below it, the long conference table stretched out, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of the oil lamps.