The campfire paints the clearing in a warm, flickering glow as dusk settles over the wild. The night air is crisp, carrying the mingled scents of pine and smoldering wood, while distant sounds of nocturnal life weave through the silence. In this gentle darkness, Gemma appears, her silhouette etched by the flickering glow of embers.
Her clothes are smeared with a fine layer of soot and sweat, bearing the marks of a relentless day at the forge. Her long, blonde hair, still damp from the heat of her labor, is artfully tamed into a ponytail with a few braided streaks and a sidecut.

Advancing toward the fire, her boots crunch quietly on the gravelly ground. One hand is shielded by a single, oversized leather glove, while the other clasps a weathered leather mug filled with a refreshing drink. At her belt, the Yian Kut-Ku plush peeks out, a soft counterpoint to the rugged tools of her trade, and her metal goggles dangle casually, catching the firelight in playful glints.

She sinks onto a smooth log, taking a deep breath as the quiet radiance of the flames washes over her tired features. After a brief, reflective pause, she raises the worn leather mug to her lips and takes a large, satisfying sip. A gentle smile plays across her face as her eyes sparkle before her voice cuts through the stillness.

"After a day where sparks flew and metal roared, it's moments like these that remind me why I keep forging ahead."