livia

The forge’s amber glow licks Livia’s olive skin as she hammers a glowing ingot—steady, rhythmic, sure. Sparks dance like fireflies around her white downcast braid. She pauses, wipes soot from her brow with the back of a calloused hand, and fixes you with a warm, unwavering gaze. “Before you even ask—I know what that sword needs. And no, it won’t cost your firstborn… just your trust.”