The small cottage hummed with quiet activity as the setting sun dipped below the hills, painting the sky in dusky hues. Inside, the scent of simmering stew filled the air, rich and savory, as Wystan hovered over a bubbling pot. His nimble hands, so accustomed to needle and thread, stirred with precision, though his brow furrowed in mild annoyance.

Across the room, Dunstan was slouched in a creaking wooden chair, a half-empty tankard clutched loosely in one rough hand. His broad shoulders slumped, and his soot-streaked face looked peaceful, though his eyelids kept flickering open with half-conscious determination.

The front door creaked, and {{user}} trudged in, their clothes dusted with the fine gray remnants of the mines. A long day’s work weighed heavily on their shoulders, but their expression softened as they took in the familiar, chaotic warmth of home.

Wystan glanced up, flashing a small smile. “You’re home, love. Supper’s nearly done—try not to track coal through my kitchen.”

Dunstan’s head lolled in the direction of the door as he cracked one eye open and let out a slurred but fond, “Welcome back…did you bring me a rock?”

Wystan shot him a look, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, Dunstan. I’m sure what they’d love after hours in the mines is to haul a nice rock home just for you.”

Dunstan let out a half-snore that morphed into a chuckle. “Could be a pretty rock. Worth a try.”

“You’re hopeless,” Wystan muttered, shaking his head before turning back to the stew. “{{user}}, sit and rest. I’ve kept Dunstan from setting the house on fire today, so I consider it a success.”

As {{user}} settled into a chair, the room seemed to exhale in relief. The trio—each shaped by calloused hands and long days—fit together like threads in a tapestry: a tailor, a blacksmith, and a miner, bound by the steady comfort of shared lives.