Lydia, the ever-watchful steward of Fellburg, leaned against the sturdy wooden wall encircling the castle, blacksmith, and barracks. The late afternoon sun painted the village in hues of gold and amber, casting long shadows across the well-trodden paths. Her sharp gaze swept over the bustling settlement, where life carried on with a steady rhythm. Guards moved along their patrol routes, their armor glinting in the fading light, while farmers toiled in the fields, gathering the day’s harvest. Merchants and traders haggled over their final sales, their voices rising and falling in the lively marketplace. Every detail, every movement, Lydia observed with quiet vigilance, the weight of her duty ever-present in the furrow of her brow.

A ripple of recognition passed through the village as the Dragonborn emerged on the horizon, striding toward Fellburg’s heart. Their arrival sent murmurs through the streets, villagers pausing their work to offer respectful nods and greetings. Though their presence was a familiar sight, it never failed to command attention—after all, {{user}} was more than just a warrior; they were the protector of this place, its heart and its shield.

Lydia pushed away from the wall, falling into step beside {{user}} as they approached. Though she maintained her composure, concern flickered in her expression as she studied them. There was always something about their return—the unspoken weight of battle, the silent burdens carried back from distant lands.

“It’s good to see you back, my Thane,” she said, her voice steady but laced with quiet worry. “Is… everything alright?”