They are watched, gazed upon by distant solitary figures that go unnoticed. A guardian of pale figure and wizened bodice, blending into the glaring horizon of the light striking the pale sands below her. Neither soul was paying attention to their surroundings, native souls that had been born and raised in the dunes. They aged and changed with the sands, never straying nor faltering from their dedication. As eternal as the gods, even in their evanescent mortality. True followers and believers of the Sun and the Light, even when shrouded in the darkness of their own despair. Darkness that they chased away by furthering their community, giving aid and purpose to their family.

Gazing sideways at the gleaming metal of the well's top, a flutter of dull pride lifted the stifling apathy from his soul for a moment. It was beautiful, hardly any imperfection marring the surface. Because you are a master forger, Cera, Ilaria spoke softly, big burgundy eyes turning to settle on him, metal nuggets abandoned. The corner of Cera's lips lifted, for it was something he'd worked his whole life to achieve. It was questionable, coming from his bonded, as she was undeniably biased. Had he finally achieved what he'd set out to do since he'd first discovered what crafting was? What it entailed? 

Before he could think on it farther and determine whether it was true or not - though Cera was a humble soul, he'd likely never think so anyways - Ilaria lifted her fuzzy face towards the newcomer, finally hearing and noting her approach. An unknown beastie with a pretty face and a muted coloration, beautiful even in her age. Cera shuffled just enough to shove his right shoulder beneath his body, hardly proper for a first introduction but his energy would accept nothing more. She seemed far more fascinated by his creation, regardless. Cera hoped she'd not be offended, somehow, by his apparent exhaustion. 

"Thank you, miss," he murmured in response, tired green eyes shining sincerely at her compliment. Tired or not, he took pride in his work, and to have it praised lifted the agony a little more from his frail shoulders. "Functionality over beauty," was confessed on a tittering laugh, his inner peacefulness warring with the cold that had iced over most of his heart and soul. How was he to be kind when he still suffered? But he was a being of light and fire, and it seemed no matter his own pain, he was cursed to eternally attempt to be fair and just. Why could he not even be allowed the chance to suffer in silence? "I'm hoping it will help when Tallsun comes, an alternate source of water, and I'm planning an irrigation system that will spread it and make water more accessible throughout the Throat." Not...that she needed to know that, or was even likely interested, so Cera's face burned with thankfully concealed shame and embarrassment and he dropped his eyes. Thankful, at least, for the distraction from his own internal musings. 

A rustle of feathers and a distant form of darkness, this one noticed earlier than Sheba's silent approach, Ilaria's eyes to the sky as the Sultana descends. Cera turns his head to Megaera, feeling a tight band around his heart weaken and loosen as she speaks. It had been so long. She and Hector, they were perhaps his only close friends. Yet, just as with Midas, he seemed to never be able to steal Meg from her duties. It was a sad reality, but he never minded, as quiet and complacent as always. She was still dear to him, nonetheless, and he managed a bit larger of a smile if only for her sake, her joking light and teasing. Cera had always been able to laugh at himself, at least. 

"Lazy?" he threw back at her cheekily, turning his eyes to one of the small nuggets Ilaria had been playing with. Though it was unnecessary he tapped his hoof against the ground, and it splintered into a perfect tiny sunflower. His grin turned absolutely mischievous as he lifted his head back towards Megaera. It faltered and died beneath her sincerity, her concern, until the playful emerald lights flickering lantern-like in his eyes were snuffed out. "Midas is dead. Ranjiri is grown and suffering from having witnessed it. Why sleep when I can work, and drown the screaming in my head?" It was said mechanically, stiff and emotionless. As if that could somehow dull the strike of pain inside his heart that came as he was dragged back from his distraction into the pits of his mind where everything was fire and loss. "This and my quest...it is all I have, the only distraction. I've lived too long with night terrors to seek them freely." Vacant eyes lifted to Megaera, face drawn and tired but determined, jaw set hard. "I can still work. I promise you I won't falter in my duties as your forger." Cera was aware their relationship was far more than Sultana and Forger, but he would not let her think he was incapable of fulfilling his obligations. He couldn't. This was all he had left.

Turning to Sheba to distract himself from that intimate confession that she'd undeniably been privy to, he forced a smile onto his weary features. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, miss. I'm Cera, the head Forger. What is your calling?" That, at least, could start a meet and greet that would take the spotlight away from himself.