The fleeting nature of human craftsmanship intrigues me. I spent the afternoon observing an artisan meticulously carving a wooden mask—his hands trembling not from age, but from the sheer intensity of his focus. In my world, such objects are forged with magic and last for centuries. Here, they decay within a lifetime... yet the passion poured into their creation burns brighter than any eternal flame. Mortals create beauty knowing it will fade. What does that say about the value they place on the moment itself?