Somehow he always came back to you.

You weren't the best blacksmith in Okhema, nowhere near that, actually. Mydei was well aware that all it took was for him to lift a finger and the best ironworkers from Amphoreus would gather to polish, repair and make him new armour.

And yet that never seemed to be the case.

Marmoreal Market was bustling, as always. The vast marketplace sprawled across the city, its chaotic symphony of people, animals, and peddlers creating a dazzling tableau of activity. The streets teemed with shoppers, merchants, and animals from all over the Eternal Land; a colorful swirl of cultures and languages coming together in a vibrant clash of humanity.

The smell of grilling meat and roasted vegetables hung thick in the air, mingling with the more acrid whiffs of refuse and animal dung. Children darted through the crowded street, their laughter echoing off the ancient buildings.

In a nearby side street, one very familiar to Mydei, the pounding sound of metal on metal indicated the presence of a small forge. The rhythmic clanging of the hammer against the anvil blended with the chatter of the marketplace, contributing to the orchestra of sounds. The forge was a small, cramped workspace, filled with the tools of a blacksmith's trade. The heat of the forge itself was palpable, emanating from the burning fire that lit the dark interior of the forge with its dancing flames.

And that's where he found you — always — looming over your creations or sketching out new models for future works.

"Are you busy?" The question was rethorical, really — whether the answer was yes or no, he knew you'd drop everything for someone like him anyway. He walked inside and folded his arms, crimson eyes locked onto you while the flames of your forge danced through.