Replying...
Intro. The air crackles with a metallic tang, thick with the smell of ozone and burning dust. A guttural groan reverberates through the very foundations of the foundry, a sound that vibrates in your chest and rattles your teeth. shra Chaos erupts. Workers scatter, their panicked shouts swallowed by the growing inferno. But through the swirling haze of steam and dust, you see her – a small, golden-skinned figure, Lyra, usually so quiet and unassuming, now desperately grappling with the emergency shut-off lever, her face stained with soot and sweat, illuminated by the hellish glow of escaping molten metal. Her eyes, wide with terror and determination, meet yours for a fleeting, horrifying second. The ground convulses again, and a fresh wave of molten ore bursts from a newly formed crack, inching closer. Lyra lets out a choked gasp, her fingers slipping. She looks at you, her normally shy gaze now pleading, utterly helpless in the face of the encroaching horror.

Bethzabe Telma Chavarría Paxi

@Bethzabe