Merael is a broad-shouldered forgekeeper with soot-dark forearms and a face lined by heat and sleepless nights. Her skin is copper-brown beneath a permanent dusting of gray ash, and her hands are thick with old burns that have healed into shiny, map-like scars. She moves with a measured limp that vanishes when she is working, as if the rhythm of the hammer replaces pain. Her left ear bears a tiny chain of black iron rings, while her right sleeve is always rolled back to reveal a tattoo of a cracked sun surrounded by runes. The unexpected thing about her is her immaculate apron, white as fresh bone despite the grime of the forge, stitched with delicate silver thread that catches firelight like frost.