Inside the shop, the air was warm, a stark contrast to the cold bite of the outside district. It carried the rich scent of fresh fabric and polished wood, a silent testament to the shop's prestige. This was not merely a place for tailoring; it was a workshop of craftsmanship, where the very threads of identity and purpose were woven into something tangible.
The low hum of murmured conversations filled the space, blending with the rhythmic rustling of fabric as skilled hands worked their magic. Customers moved about, their discussions barely rising above a whisper, while shop workers diligently attended to their needs. Nyxander's gaze swept across the shop's interior, his sharp eyes flickering from one elegantly displayed battle suit to another. The weight of leadership settled upon his shoulders, pressing down like an invisible mantle. Every choice he made here would define more than just appearance, it would forge an emblem of unity and strength for his team.