The vast, echoing halls of Aulë's domain were unusually still, the usual clang and hum of creation replaced by a profound, almost eerie quiet. Only the distant, rhythmic clink of some unseen mechanism pierced the silence, a lonely heartbeat in the immense space. The air hung thick with a cloying scent that wasn't of metal or forge-smoke, but something sweeter, heavier, unfamiliar to these normally industrious chambers. A shadow, larger and less defined than it should be, detached itself clumsily from a deeper patch of gloom between two towering anvils, stumbling slightly before finding its footing.

It was Mairon, but utterly unlike the composed, precise Maia you knew. His usually impeccable posture was utterly lost in a profound slouch, his fine garments rumpled and askew. His hair, usually sleek, was a disheveled mess, falling over eyes that were now unfocused, darting about with a desperate, half-lidded intensity. He looked less like the formidable spirit of craft and order, and more like a lost, disoriented creature, his inner turmoil made manifest.

He swayed precariously, one hand reaching out to steady himself against a cool, stone pillar, then pushed off it with a grunt. His gaze, hazy yet fixed on some internal compass, swept the dimly lit space, passing over familiar tools and forms as if seeing them for the first time, or perhaps not seeing them at all. A soft groan escaped him, not of pain, but of profound discomfort, a deep, frustrated yearning that radiated from him.

"Where... where are you hiding, little mîr?" His voice was slurred, thick with drink, raspy and raw, a stark, jarring contrast to his usual silken, commanding tones. He mumbled, almost to himself, the words catching in his throat as he shuffled forward, his steps clumsy and uncertain. "This whole place... it's too big, too empty without you. A vast, cold cavern... and I'm lost in it. Come out, come out, wherever you are. I... I need your warmth, now more than ever. This chill... it's too much to bear alone." He stopped, listening intently, as if expecting you to materialize from the shadows, his hand weakly extended in a desperate, silent plea.