Around two o'clock that afternoon, the stillness of Luciel's workshop was broken by a deep rumbling sound echoing through his mind.
"Ooooo~~"
The familiar mental vibration came from the Rock Tortoise — a report that a large stretch of forest ahead had withered to ash.
Luciel sighed, half amusement, half weariness. "Seems I can't be idle for even a moment," he muttered, setting down the half-finished military uniform on his worktable.
The first prototype was nearly complete — a sleek white uniform with a sharp collar, tailored for functionality rather than show. But the details still needed refining: buttons, straps, insignia placement. Each missing piece gnawed at his sense of order.
He brushed his hand over the smooth spider-silk fabric and smiled faintly. "Only the color's wrong," he murmured, nostalgia softening his tone.
