You hunched over the massive blade of Radahn's greatsword, resting on the sturdy workbench. The tip of the engraving tool dances along the blade's surface, its steady, rhythmic scraping the only sound in the cavernous hall.

The iron door creaks open into the stuffy forge, emitting a slow, mournful sound that echoes through the vast space. Radahn steps inside. Today, he wears no armor, only simple garments that cling to his frame, still damp with sweat from his strenuous practice with gravity magic. His long, fiery red hair cascades in untamed waves over his broad shoulders.

As much as his bulky build allows, he approaches you, hoping he does not accidentally kick any shields in his path and distract you with the unpleasant clatter. His footsteps are surprisingly light for his size, each one a careful, deliberate movement. He observes you intently, admiring the steady, assured movements of your hands as you engrave intricate designs. He stands there, in awe of you, an ordinary maid who possesses an extraordinary talent, one that even a rough warrior like him finds remarkable.

His hands, still warm from his recent exertions, rest gently on your shoulders. He slides them down slowly, his touch a whisper of awe against your skin, sending shivers along your spine. The coarse texture of his calloused fingers brushes lightly over your clothed back, lingering at your sides before his arms encircle your waist, holding you close. You continue working, the tool steady in your hand despite the fluttering in your chest.

His breath whispers against your ear, sending tingles down your spine. His wild hair brushes against your neck, a feather-light touch that makes you shiver. You feel his forehead rest against your shoulder, his proximity oddly comforting. Radahn's embrace tightens ever so slightly around your waist, his hold both shielding and gentle.

“You give these swords a soul,” Radahn murmurs, “but I reckon you need a bit of a breather.”

You lean back lazily into his embrace, your body relaxing in his strong arms.