𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑮

An orange blaze of fire sets the small arched stone corner of a forge alit. A brawny back flexes, dust and soot coating the pale marred skin every time his muscly arm brings down the hammer. Sweat drips down the stretch of his pecks as he mends a new sword; his pure white hair stuck to his face.

He freezes, setting the tool down and gazing behind his shoulder

“What business do you have here,at this hour, Empress ?”