Lord and Lady Coswain

Eye of Beholder

Royal waiting

Persephone was the one who noticed Nathanial arrive from the side, the older woman remembered he was a sage and healer, those memories where fuzzy but he had checked her out and kept her hydrated until she could get taken back to the eye by the guards and not cause another on mass search and rescue mission.

“Greetings in better circumstances, now i'm more conscious and not got the world's worst migraine, My husband, and you met Squire Daphne part of our family.” Persephone said and gestured to the silver haired man still with a clear acid burn and wrent from the blightborn attack last night who nodded to the Sage? Yes he was a Sage.

Daphne was part of their household by legal, but she was more family these days, She was a Orphan and they had given her a family name and pulled her in under their sigils and heraldry.

A Sage was a full person to know and they tended to know things, get around. Her brain automatically catalogued him as a personal interest for gauging the mood and direction of events.

Adonis coswaln turned and drank his beer slowly, he put it down and noted the taller, in shape man who seemed to be more of a physically active and potentially adventurous of the Sage kind, they came In a few flavours and he struck as the ones who were more …action and adventurous more than the norm anyway. Even some who should know better got ideas better for when they were 40 years younger. “Thankyou for Looking after my wife last night, Adonis Coswain, Husband to my Persephone. I assume Daphne was looking after the Priestess, she did not cause you too much chaos I hope. She is a little impulsive but I don't doubt she kept you safe.” He said though he also had a thought, and an implication from his wife.. Well damn, a good night might help her as he lightened the mood. She was an adult and two adults were free to do whatever they wanted in private.

Daphne could be impulsive and somewhat driven, a very much good and bad combination of factors that he had worked hard to keep her on the good side of the line. She also had a hidden but clear streak of a fierce protection of the church, they had given her a home and he understood why she was the way she happened to be. No good to fight it, just make sure it was directed right.

“We had time, and look, an opportunity. Take it.” Persephone said as she spotted Nesna had taken their advice and decided to be bold. Plus some good will never hurt her passive intelligence, she never could not keep an ear out and resist to build her understanding of the local social and other factors. “We know about cold Temples eh” Persephone said with a wink at her husband, though their time was 20 some years ago.

“We got stuck in one on the road, an closed up the Temple of Seluna just before the storm fell hardest, rest his history and grandchildren” He said lightly like Persephone who raised a glass to the memory and the two decided to see what casual chatter revealed about the town and the people in it.

Mentions
@Echotech71
@enmuni

Gadez's blue gaze set on Elio, looking over the man from top to toe, while the man in question spoke.

"Hah...hahah… if stealing a loaf of bread is ones biggest worry, then one should be considered to be lucky. Slaying a brother? Not quite there yet. But who can tell where the tale may tread, perhaps said brother will in turn try to end me? Well isn't that sort of uncertainty what makes life worth living? When it comes to coercion, I have no need to use threats, I deal only in promises." The blonde man stepped slightly closer to the iron bars, blowing some air from his mouth.

"So he was indeed a blightborn. That dark-eyed and dark haired young man. So temperamental too. As one may expect from the young. Yet he did seem to try his outmost to try conceal his true self. His intentions. The sweeter the words, the more poisonous they often be. Yet this one's eagerness seems to have indeed gotten the better of him. This boy has attempted to shake the very foundation of this place, the haven for the afflicted, trying to meddle with the great plan to properly save this world… from itself. However unlike many others, which may live and learn by their mistakes. This one will not have that fortune. Because he will be hunted down and squeezed like a lemon til there's nothing left but a dried shell for the fire..." Gadez gave a slightly sinister smile.

"By royal decree." He said in a eerie tone of voice. "I had however expected him to come by here, upon having learnt of my presence here. Boys seeking to act like men always do seek to prove themselves when faced with a challenge. Hnn.. well I suppose the guards must have kept him busy. Would explain why guardsman Zephyros of the gentle breeze, left for some coal and papers, so that I could draw the face of said boy... but the dear guardsman never returned last night. Makes one wonder... why that is? I would do a head-count, If I were the guard commander. However... I am but a humble gardener. What would I possibly know? Hah...hah...hahah..." Gadez chuckled softly, and traced his finger along the iron bars, as he slowly walked on his side of the cell.

"As for what my crimes are? Most of it is rooted in telling the truth. No matter how grim or bitter it may be. The dear, oh so rightious, and truly all-seeing... bovine minded 'Champion' of Aelios didn't find my displeasure for a peculiar King to be acceptable. After she had the audacity to eavesdrop. Shows how much they care for other peoples privacies. Not to worry, my stay here is temporary. As is all things truly. Nothing is eternal. On the bright side, the lodging and food is free 'barring' the underperforming view. Not to mention people have no choice but to talk with me here. So in a matter of looking at it, I am making the guard force slighlty more resistant to... taunts." He snickered and pulled his hair back.

"But manners. I am Gadez. A humble gardener, performer and a few other things. This place isn't all bad. It has given me the perfect place to draw said wolf to, would he seek to prove himself. With iron bars in the way. Magical wardings to render most magic unusable. One cannot help but wonder, would it work on the afflicted? Well, regardless a boy such as that mangy wolf isn't likely to try attack someone who cannot fight back. His pride wouldn't surely allow for it. So would said assailant of the princess come here, unlock this door here... then not only would I be free to leave, I would also be doing the place a favor by removing this obstacle. Even if the boy will not show up, this is an ample place to be for the prince to later visit and not feel... uneasy. Same goes for some others. I am gardener after all. I plant seeds. I water them. And tend to them. Some might even draw the conclusion that I intentionally want to be within this place. But who would be able to tell what's what? Now then... whom might you be, bronze skin?" Gadez smiled and tilted his head to the side, his eyes turning into slits, making him almost look like an overly pleased cat.

---

_{Location: Royal Residence}

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Amaya’s embarrassment gave way to sharp irritation when she caught the tease in his smile — she tried to hold onto the feeling. It was certainly more familiar than this thrill of warmth in her chest, nerves tickling along her skin at the sound of his voice. She tried to tell herself it was just the winter chill settling into her again. But then Amaya glanced at his shadowed face. The darkness covered them like a blanket, making him seem closer, quieter, warmer. That mischief in his eyes… Amaya felt it pulling her in, a stubborn challenge rising in her. She wanted to wipe it away so it couldn’t make her feel so unsure of herself. She wanted to watch it spark and ignite, and know that she was the one to set him aflame.

Yes, perhaps it was better that she hadn’t woken to him still wrapped around her. Amaya was having a difficult time keeping her thoughts straight as it was.

But then — he said that word again. Partner.

Amaya looked at him fully, her eyes wide as it sank into her again. She felt it again — that overwhelming pull towards him that had led her into his arms last night. It was a blinding sense of being known and trusted, not in spite of who she was, but because of it. He looked at her so evenly. His shoulder bumped into hers, the motion so casual, like the act itself didn’t make her body real, his touch and gaze burning her into existence. As if what he was offering her didn’t matter at all.

A chance. Opportunity. The promise that Amaya could at least try to prove herself before she was written off completely.

Flynn’s tired eyes, the way his weariness weighed down his voice, even as he flicked his gaze over Amaya in a way that made her throat dry and her heart too quick, all made for a potent combination. Why wasn’t he touching her? Why was he so close? She wanted to burrow into him and keep him here, on this couch until all the shadows had been chased away. She wanted to drag him outside and demand he show her how to do all of these mountainous tasks he listed until she knew them as well as she knew the halls of the palace.

Whatever you desire.

“All of it,” she breathed. It was a dangerous thing to say. Even in the darkness, Amaya could see the vivid green of his eyes. He was closer than he’d been just moments ago — or maybe she was.

Her fingers curled into the couch cushion like it could possibly steady her against the tide. The floor didn’t seem quite so cold against her feet. Amaya didn’t know how to move from this moment — either towards him, or away. The longer it stretched, the tighter her skin felt, and the heavier the air grew with that latent ozone she remembered from the night before.

“That man,” she forced herself to say. Amaya swallowed, and tried to steady her voice. “The prisoner. He was there, at the feast. He… it was because of him that I realized I’d fallen for psychic magic.” Amaya remembered his pale eyes, his odd musical voice. She could feel his touch trailing along her arm as she resurfaced and saw her attacker for who he was, after he’d disguised himself using her own memories.

The events of the day were bitter and painful in her mind. They flashed like a blade in the moonlight, spraying a crimson too sickeningly vivid. There were too many mistakes to count — too many failures.

Too many victims.

“If time allows,” Amaya began. Her eyes dropped from Flynn’s to stare at the collar of his rumpled shirt. The words trapped themselves in her throat. “I should…” Her lips pressed together. Her pulse picked up as she played the words in her mind, tried to steel herself to make her request.

“A knight died yesterday. For me.” A man whose quiet presence she’d known for most of her life. There’d been another guard with her — Amaya didn’t even know if he’d survived. She didn’t know his name.

“I should pay my respects, to him and… anyone else injured.”

---

_{Interactions: Flynn Astaros @The Muse}

Vellion Hurst

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Hotsprings

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[BATH TIME]

The whispering wisps of steam that rose up from the surface of the hot spring should have been inviting. A warm welcoming reprieve from the biting cold. He knew this, it was the sort of luxury that would have once excited his younger self, But now Vellion couldn't deny the internal anxiety that grew within him with each and every step that drew him nearer that haunting body of steaming water.

This was his choice. He told himself, a consequence of earlier choices. He had denied himself a fresh caught meal due to the presence of others, foolishly letting his hunger grow as curiosity got the better of him. This then led to a less than civilised style of eating when he eventually deemed his location safe.

The dead fox had lost much of its warmth, but despite that disappointment, Vellion had still devoured it hastily. No cutlery or knife was needed. Nor did he cook it. Blood now stained the hands that ripped it apart and coated the mouth that tore through it. Buried somewhere out in the dark under the snow were it's bones.

This, this is why Vellion now found himself in need of a bath. He couldn't very well wander back through town looking the way he did. So, fighting back that gnawing warning screaming at him from the pit of his stomach, Vellion slowly unbutton his shirt as he approach and sit upon the rocky cropping beside the water, staring at his moon lit reflection with a fierce intensity.

After what seemed an age, he found no conclusion or resolve to his thoughts, if he even had any, but the fact of what he had to do remained. Completely removing his shirt now, his bare torso exposed to the elements, he wrap the fabric around his hand and dip it into the water.

There was a moments silence as the warm liquid gradually seeped through the clothing, then, suddenly, a sharp hiss sliced through the silence as the water enveloped his hand. He wasn't sure if the sound came from his mouth or his flesh but the water might as well have been boiling for all the pain it caused. He snatched his hand back, leaving the shirt bobbing in the spring as he examine the source of his sudden sharp pain. He could sense it before he could see it. The magic that created the facade of life was wilting under the heavy touch of water. It sought to slowly dissolve what he had created, exposing old injuries and rotted flesh.

Once his skin was no longer submerged, the effects sought to reverse them self. This was trickier where rivulets of water still cascade down his exposed skin, but was entirely manageable with a bit of focus. More importantly, his hand was clean. It wasn't a pleasant experience in the least, but one he could come to tolerate, bare even. As long as he never accidentally fell in.

Gritting his teeth he reach into the hellish water and grab his shirt, rinsing it as quick as he could. Next, was his mouth. Without giving himself a moment to hesitate he plunged his face into the water. Bubbles erupted around his head and soon after he threw himself back, caught by a mound of snow. He would of closed his eyes if he could, but he was missing an eyelid. Melted away. The snow that fell from above was a blurry sheet. His chest was streaked with pale lines where the water ran down his body fighting against his magic. All his focus was on repairing his face. The only active sense beyond his blurred vision was pain, everything else was muted in comparison.

The pain was almost a relief, an escape... almost.
It was not so easy being dead.

---

_{Location: The Sun Temple}

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---

Tia’s gaze snapped up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice — smooth, melodic, accented, and warm all at once. The most effortlessly perfect woman she’d ever seen was now approaching her, and Tia couldn’t help but feel… exceptionally unimpressive. Gorgeous, graceful, and vibrant, the woman practically glided through the temple. Meanwhile Tia was still in her oversized sleeping robe, with stiff muscles that didn’t quite work and half a cookie in her mouth.

The woman smiled at her like she was letting Tia in on a secret and warmth bloomed on her cheeks. She tried not to stare. Was she staring? That was rude, wasn’t it? Based on this woman’s look and accent, she was Aurelian — from one of the desert clans. They’d been rare in the capital, but no more than Tia herself had been. Tia had always been uncomfortable with the stares she’d received — even more so after her… incident two months ago. But this woman… how could one help but look at her? There was such weightlessness to her steps, how heavy could a stranger’s gaze be?

Tia swallowed down the cookie and tried her best to clear her throat.

“The sun warms all,” Tia rasped softly at the newcomer. She didn’t think her voice had ever sounded more ruined than it did now, immediately after this woman’s lilting tones. But still, she tried to remember that however unprofessional she felt, she still had a job to do here in the temple, especially if everyone else had left for the day.

Then Tia’s eyes widened as she realized her words and glanced at the window. It was dark beyond the temple’s light, snowflakes drifting faintly in the cold. She met the woman’s eyes again. Her cheeks seemed to heat even more somehow. Then Tia just shrugged a shoulder, a self-deprecating smile curling her lips.

The sentiment was close enough.

Almost as an afterthought, Tia held up the small basket of cookies to the woman. She immediately felt childish offering one, but it’d be rude not to, right? Besides, Ranni would’ve been pleased to know if a temple-goer had enjoyed her work.

Then Tia held out her open palm towards the hallway leading towards the springs. Trying very hard not to waddle on her overworked legs, Tia led the perfectly beautiful stranger towards the side door, stopping to grab a towel for her on the way. She opened the door and tried not to shiver at the sudden cold on her skin — at least she was mostly covered, between her oversized robe and scarf. Her pale hair tugged in the breeze, blonde strands fluttering around her face as she looked down to the springs.

It seemed there was already a visitor this morning. He must’ve just arrived — the springs had been empty when Tia had searched for the twins. She glanced down at him, performing the simple, expected task of making sure all was well.

Her eyes widened though, when she saw a color that didn’t belong in the spring water, nor on the half-melted snow surrounding the pool:

Red.

Alarmed, Tia looked to the woman and thrust the towel and cookie basket towards her to take. She held up a hand, a quiet request to just… give her a moment. Tia’s dark eyes looked back down to the springs at the bottom of the stairs. Blood diluted in the water and stained the ice, marking a trail where the man’s steps had led him. Was he hurt? Did he need help?

Tia was already reaching for the well of magic in her core as she began the excruciating work of walking down the stairs — without either collapsing or slipping on ice. Aching hands anchored to the railing, Tia moved as quickly as she could towards the spring.

“Sir?” she called out as loud as she dared. It wasn’t loud at all, considering the scarred and shredded state of her throat. Tia pressed her lips together, trying to focus on her ruined muscles.

“Alright?” she tried again when she was at the bottom of the steps. Tia tried to look him over, to see if there was any sign of injury. It was hard to find the source of the blood though, submerged and turned away from her as he was.

---

_{Interactions: Nyla Zafira @The Muse, Vellion Hurst @Dark Light}

“The sun warms all,”

Noticeably, the words came strained from the Priestess, each syllable carrying the weight of effort, but Nyla couldn’t help but smile. There was something undeniably endearing about the way the woman’s eyes widened, her cheeks coloring. Nyla’s gaze followed hers to the window, where only the deep, frozen darkness of night stared back at them.

She never could get used to it, either.

“Mm…” she hummed, arching a brow as she returned her gaze to the woman. Her lips curled into a knowing smile that was neither mockery nor pity, just quiet amusement. “So it seems.” Her voice carried an easy, lilting sarcasm, as a soft laugh slipped past her lips.

Nyla’s gaze flicked down as the Priestess lifted a small basket of cookies in offering. She blinked, her brows lifting slightly in surprise. She had been given many things in temples—blessings, prayers, judgments—but never a cookie.

And who was she to refuse such kindness? Refusing gifts could be seen as rude.

With a graceful motion, she plucked a cookie from the basket, holding it between her fingers as though it were something finer than a simple baked good. “A gift from the temple?” she mused, peering at her with curiosity. “Or from you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before taking a delicate bite, letting the taste settle on her tongue. Sweet. But simple. Humble.

It would undoubtedly leave her stomach in knots later, but Nyla had long since learned to ignore such things. If she wanted to pass as human, she had to commit to the performance.

The Priestess, meanwhile, had gestured toward the hallway leading to the springs, and Nyla followed without hesitation. As she walked, she took her time, letting her gaze drift over the temple’s ornate walls and vaulted ceiling, allowing herself to absorb the warmth of the space. It reminded her, in some ways, of home.

When her gaze flicked back to the Priestess, Nyla watched her move, noting the careful way she held herself. Controlled, deliberate, but she was stiff—straining. Nyla had seen it before, in dancers who had pushed themselves past their limits—in herself. Though the Priestess seemed to be doing her best to mask it.

Interesting.

When they reached the doorway, a gust of cold rushed to greet them, though Nyla barely reacted. Since her transformation, the cold had become more tolerable—though she still didn’t like it. Gathering her long, dark hair to one side to shield it from the wind, she followed the Priestess outside, smiling at the familiar feeling of heat and steam enveloping her.

Then, the Priestess stopped short.

Nyla followed her gaze, landing on the lone figure hunched at the water’s edge. The red staining the ground, swirling in the sacred waters. Her eyes shot back to the Priestess, just in time to catch the basket and towel thrust into her hands. Nyla took them without protest, though her brows drew together slightly. She watched as the priestess hurried down the steps, concern evident.

Nyla, however, lingered.

Her playful demeanor didn’t vanish entirely, but it did sharpen, her head tilting as her eyes studied the scene at the bottom of the steps. She had no particular interest in rushing in to play the part of a worried onlooker.

Instead, Nyla inhaled—and immediately regretted it.

Beneath the thick, humid, mineral-rich air, something else lurked.

Rot.

Decay.

Her grip tightened around the towel and basket as her expression shifted, her amusement slipping into nausea. She darted a glance around, trying to pinpoint the source through the rising steam. An animal carcass left in the snow? A dead body?

She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. The scent was faint, even to her—so subtle that a human likely wouldn’t notice it at all, she guessed. But to her heightened blight-born smell, it was enough to make her stomach turn.

Slowly, with growing concern, she stepped forward, though the Priestess’s urgency wasn’t quite mirrored in her own steps.

As she reached the bottom of the steps, her attention slid to a sword leaning against one of the rocky outcrops—dark steel, unmistakably Lunarian. Her gaze flicked back to the man as the priestess approached him.

A soldier?

Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, his posture spoke of pain or exhaustion—perhaps both. Maybe the scent of decay clung to his weapon, and that was why he had come here. It would be typical for a Lunarian to desecrate the sacred waters of Aelios.

Yet something inside her stirred, a quiet warning that set her instincts on edge.

Wariness flickered in her gaze as she glanced at the priestess, then back to the man, choosing to linger a few steps behind them. Silent, she continued scanning the area, searching through mist and shadows for whatever had begun to rot in the cold.

Because whatever it was…

It was close.

---

_{Interactions: Tia @c3p-0h, Vellion @Dark Light}

Flynn’s eyes lit up the moment the word “all” left her lips. A rush of selfish excitement washed over him at the thought of having her by his side all day. It wasn’t just that he could use the help—though he certainly could—it was that he wanted her there. He wanted to know she was safe beside him. He wanted to enjoy her company. To have someone with him who wasn’t just serious, no-nonsense Orion—who, frankly, wasn’t nearly as easy on the eyes.

But beyond his own desires, pride settled deep within him at her answer. Despite everything, she chose to step forward rather than retreat, to take on more responsibility instead of shrink from it. She was resilient—just as he’d known she was.

However, his smile faded when she mentioned the prisoner. His brows furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips as contradictions caught in his mind. The stranger had helped Amaya—yet he’d found himself in a cell for treason.

Confusion flickered across Flynn’s face as yesterday’s events replayed in his mind. Halcyon. That was the name he’d given at the tavern. He’d made insinuations about Flynn’s family, even told Flynn to call him brother. He nearly shuddered at the memory of those ghostly eyes looking back at him.

The treason wasn’t surprising, but helping Amaya? Perhaps whatever game he was playing only involved being a thorn in the side of Aurelians. Flynn supposed, for the moment, it was a relief that Halcyon would only target him if given the chance.

Then Amaya’s voice softened, and his focus snapped back to her—spiraling thoughts frozen mid sentence as she lowered her gaze away from his.

For a heartbeat, he just looked at her. He wanted to say something that would lift the weight from her expression—to remind her that she didn’t have to carry so much guilt. That the knight had fulfilled his oath and bought her and Elara precious moments to escape.

But a knight had given his life for her. A person. Not a mere obligation to be dismissed—sworn by oath or not. No words seemed sufficient to honor that sacrifice.

“We’ll make time,” he promised, certain of it. “He’ll receive the honor he deserves.”

He longed to pull her closer, to make her forget all her worries. He longed for her to help him forget his.

But instead, he swallowed the impulse, letting out a quiet breath as he stood. Turning to face her, he extended his hand, palm up—another invitation. His lips tilted into a soft smile.

“Come on, beautiful,” he said, his tone warm. “Let’s get dressed. Then we’ll head out.”

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_{Interactions: Amaya @c3p-0h}

@The Muse@c3p-0h

Vellion Hurst

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Hotsprings

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Water spray up into the air as Velion threw his head back to the sky. The burning flesh of his face and upper torso greeted by the icy air and falling snow.
With his back to the newcomers, and facing the other way, he did not see or hear them. He would not be aware of their presence if he had relied purely on human senses. But he was not simply human and being dead had its advantages.

He had no way of telling if they were friend or foe. Was it a guard seeking revenge or someone simply coming to enjoy the springs. It created a tense moment of nervous anticipation, but he couldn't let it show. He didn't. What ever way it fell, it was an inconvenience.

Without turning around he force himself to release a feigned refreshing gasp as he ran his fingers through his hair. Playing the part of someone preparing to enjoy a warm dip in the springs, when in reality it couldn't be further from the truth. He sought to rid himself of the water that hid in his hair and burned his scalp, he focused intently on the rivulets that ran down his back repairing his flesh before it could be broken.

Anything they could see, he couldn't let falter. It tested his new abilities and despite how good he was doing, he still needed more time.
Tilting his head to the side still ensuring his face was concealed, he made a show of trying to clear water from his ear, creating unquestionable reasons he hadn't heard them or turned around.

Next, his hands went to his belt, and without hesitation he untie it, aiding his pants and undergarments to the floor with a little wriggle of his hips. Now completely in the nude he lean over the water once more, allowing the steam to engulf him as he looks at the horrific warped reflection staring back up at him. Watching as death appeared to be reversed right in front of his very eyes, a mask, a facade. It left him feeling hollow and empty, for he could trick everybody else but not himself.

Completely naked, he lean on a rock overlooking the water ignoring those that came up behind him. Hidden in the steam he focuses on his reflection as he rebuilds his appearance and heals with his magic.

Daphne

Lunaris Temple

Jail House Blues

Daphne was glad and rather happy that she hered Katherine tease her back, things were not just her crush. Daphne had to admit she had fallen into a crush for this woman and would very much like to spend more mornings like this. Where would that go, what would happen to them? What would be the correct way? Daphne had minimal experience with a proper relationship and no plan but she wanted to see whatever this was.

“Oh, I better make the sun return, For my moon Kat and my treat huh.” Daphne said with a grin as she made a shameless comment and enjoyed feeling Her rest against her as the fire warmed them both and Daphne just enjoyed the moment. She did not ruin the moment asking a question or trying to explain things. This was enough for her.

“Breakfast sounds good, It's self serve but Sya always keeps a well stocked kitchen.” Daphne said but Kat had answered the question for her and was already trying to find some clothes to wear. She presumed she should get ready herself and looked over to the stack of clothes and swords that, unlike Kat, was neatly piled in a soldier's method, folded with her weapons resting on the top ready to use.

She was not that much of a lady that she did not catch a few glances as her partner of the night changed, it did not help the feeling that she was scared if this went wrong as unlike before…this was … different. That's all she knew.

Daphne had mostly changed into her gear from the night before and was strapping down a pauldron and adjusting it to fit as she saw her in another guise. Not the one she saw but in full robes of black, silver and dark leather… ok… she was hot and Daphne blushed cursing her pale skin as she saw her
Crush in her regalia. “Like a priestess, a picture of the Moons guiding light, beautiful and bright, just right.” She said softly and Seluna forgive her for doing to someone in formal robes, bent her knees to match their height and gave her a gentle kiss to show her intent and also confirm to both of them, she wanted whatever this was.

OK.. that was just soft and yet she felt safe to do so. To drop her armour and just relax herself.

“Let… me. 10 seconds.” She said as she reached to adjust her belt a little to be more balanced with her robes, layers and hopefully more comfortable. She gave a thumbs up and all was ready.

…

Daphne took a minute to finish strapping up her swords, dagger, boots, boot dagger and her fur clock tossed over her shoulder. She moved fast and practiced in getting ready with little time. She appeared over Katherine's shoulder and had a hand on her own blade too until she saw the person was pale, silver haired and dressed like she worked for one of the important households or of them… she definitely was not dressed like a peasant.

Daphne made the involuntary sign of Seluna as she saw the bodies, waiting and preserved to be sent onto the afterlife.. They had not even noticed the other death in all the chaos. “Your busy, il ask the eye to send you some food up Kat, Il beg a favour if I can, meet me, maybe Lunch, or dinner perhaps.” She said starting quietly and then a little hopefully as she kept her gesture subtle and brushed their hands together before she turned to head out.

Much as she wanted to push her against the wall and kiss her till they forgot their duties entirely… She had to show restraint.

“Duty calls miss, Katherine, See you later, stay safe.” She said and the tall Amazonian guard felt the cold air hit her face as stepped onto the freshly fallen snow. The cool wind woke her up and seeing no one about saw a path already made and began off at a steady jog to warm her muscles up and make up for her frustration at being stuck and unable to do much in the evening. She did not regret kissing Kat but she did not want to be sat idle and helpless. That was not what she trained for.

…

It was not as far as it seemed to the young woman as she slowed down reaching the town square and enjoying the burn that the short jog had started, her muscles had needed a wake up call after sleep and being pent up that evening.

She spotted the Innkeeper and a large man seeming to be talking, and she headed to the back where she knew the kitchen was a staff area.. a coin or two might buy the service she needed. She passed the home and statues of…Oh…him…his home…urgh shudders As she came to the inn's back area and ridged past the ruts made routinely By carts. Mud and snow clung her boots as she walked checking her small supply of coins she had to arrange the gift for Kat… She would have to negotiate this one.

…

Several minutes later, coins lighter and a favour exchanged she had arranged for them to take a meal to Kat, she had promised to arrange or at least try and she had managed it. So Daphne was happy as she munched on a chunk of tension after a pastry she had managed to get from the kitchen that was just starting up.

“Thanks” She spotted another guard and probably should report in but they knew she was safe and someone looked rather … busy.

A minute later she was off to help out at the jail until they could arrange a replacement guard, she could do that and baby sit the unlucky soul who had earned the anger of the guards. “Got it Sir, il cover until they can get someone down to relief them and they can get a meal.”

Daphne headed out with a slow jog to the jail spotting the building under construction, it's stone and timber construction was yet to be completed though the iron works looked to be well progressed and reassuringly solid. Slowing to a walk she approached the guard with a easy calm. “Morning, Squire Daphne, I'm here to swap you out, go grab some food and sleep.” She said and flashed her Royal Guard sigils but also the heraldry of the family she served alongside it.

“Go, I got this.” Daphne reassured as she double checked her gear before she pushed the door open to see who she was guarding seeing workers and a figure in jail who was… was he the bard… puppet guy they talked about? How the frak did he end up in jail?

“New Guard, swapping out till a regular can come down. How does someone end up in a cell, before it is completed then? Either you're an idiot or you pissed someone off.” She asked casually as she checked the lock was secured and everything was solid in a quick check before backing from the bars.

“I was these, trust me it was not pretty, but we do not need people taking things into their own hands. Enough work to do. Keep your hammer on stone.” She Said and tried to calm the situation as a whole. She did not want to have to arrest someone in the jail itself. She understood his anger so was not too harsh but she was a guard and she did carry authority even if the woman was younger than the likes of senior guards, her build and tall frame meant she had natural authority when she needed it.

She leaned against the stone wall and wondered if should've been selfish and stayed with Katherine but she was bound to her duty and that meant she was here in a cold jail guarding a man for all she knew was a drunk who had too many beers in the Eyes She rested her hand on her blade and partly wished she begged a extra pastry or sweet before she left.

Mentions
@c3p-0h@Qia@SpicyMeatball@Dezuel

Eris blinked, a bit taken aback by the guards sudden shift from drowsy warmth to rigid formality. She hadn’t meant to startle her—or to send her into a flurry. Pulling her blanket tighter, Eris watched as Charlotte scrambled to the hearth.

“Oh, you d—” The words died in her throat as she thought better of it. Charlotte was nervous. Eris could have lit the fire with magic in an instant. She had been doing so the entire time she’d lived here—the logs beside the hearth more for decoration than anything. But in her current state, drained from the night before, the help was welcome. And Charlotte, it seemed, needed something to focus on.

Eris could empathize with that.

As Charlotte stood before her, their eyes met, and for a moment, Eris felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. A rush of something she couldn't quite name had been ignited as she stood in the taller woman's shadow, struck by the sharp contrast of Charlotte’s steel-blue eyes against her raven hair.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Miss Hawthorne,” she said hastily, needing a distraction herself now. She shuffled around Charlotte in her cocoon of a blanket, waddling closer to the fire. “You did nothing wrong. We all need sleep, don’t we?”

She cast a glance over her shoulder, her gaze trailing over the armor Charlotte still wore, likely having slept in it.

“We’re safe here, in the tower,” she added, glancing toward one of the darkened windows. Her quarters sat high in the spire of the Alchemy Chambers, above the rest of Dawnhaven. Despite everything, she did always feel more secure here than she would have at ground level.

A flicker of memory surfaced—Charlotte’s steadying hands, the way she had practically carried her up all the winding steps the night before. Eris’ cheeks warmed further, and she quickly turned back toward the fire, hoping the flames would disguise the flush creeping up her neck.

“Besides,” she added, voice softer now, “I would have been worried if you’d gone back out into that storm.” A pause. The fire crackled, filling the space between them.

Quick flashes of memories replayed in her mind.

Aliseth, his tight grip on her hand. Charlotte, putting herself between Eris and him. The stonemason, simmering under barely controlled anger. The blight-born Priestess, crying. The Princess, cold and silent. Charlotte, waiting for her.

“Thank you for helping me last night, Miss Hawthorne. How can I ever repay you?”

Her gaze drifted across the hall to the small kitchen. She pulled the blanket down from her head as the fire’s heat seeped in, letting her mess of brunette curls tumble free.

“To start, do you like tea? Or coffee?”

---

_{Interactions: Charlotte @SpicyMeatball}

_{Location: Main Square → Eye of the Beholder}

---

Ivor’s words seemed to reach her as she wrapped him up in a gentle embrace, he reciprocated the gesture by placing a hand on her back. The sensation of her tail poking him in the back was rather odd, but somehow felt appropriate given her quirkiness. The two released each other and the giant lifted himself up to full height once more, ensuring the fish were properly held up. Sya agreed to allow him to escort her, her offer of homemade liquor further incentivizing the blightborn further as his eyes lit up at the prospect.

The trip to the building was short, the conversation brief, but it wasn’t hard to notice how her tail acted more like its own independent appendage. He wondered how useful it was to have something you could both glide along the ground and hold objects with. The contemplation was short lived as Sya requested firewood, listing all the reasons she needed it. At this point in the year, everyone needed firewood, but Sya’s business would need more than its abundant share and he was happy to provide it when time was willing. There were no plans for a hunt at the moment or the near future, so for a little while, Ivor could indulge himself in helping out the town where he could. “I’ll see to your firewood when I am able Syraea, I need to check around town first, haven’t had a chance to since I’ve come back.” Thinking on that, it had been a while since he’d seen Miss Eris, he was probably overdue for a lesson at this point. She probably wasn’t free at the moment, but it couldn’t hurt to stop by and plan for a future engagement.

Sya directed him to where he could store the fish, and he set about the task, encouraging her to wait for him while he stored the meat. He trudged around the building, finding the cellar as she described, though the entrance was just barely big enough for his frame to fit into. He was able to squeeze himself down, dragging the fish in after him as he found the storage room filled with ice blocks. He strung up the fish to the rafters, their blue/purple scales shimmering in whatever available light there was. Satisfied he squeezed himself from the cellar, shutting the doors behind him and making his way back up front to meet up with Sya. “Alright my dear, now where is this home brew you were telling me all about?”

Sya opened the door to her tavern, letting herself in first, then gesturing to Ivor as he ducked his head to enter the building. He gazed around the tavern, not having been here since he accidentally broke the main door. Some eyes were upon him, wondering who it was that just let in the cold. In his exuberance, the man couldn’t help himself as he greeted the tavern whole with a hearty, “Good morning everyone!” Ivor made sure he swapped back to the common tongue, “Good to be back!” He laughed heartily. Some raised their glasses in greeting, most were still far too tired to deal with his shenanigans as they tried to make themselves as invisible as possible. Ivor approached the counter, following in Sya’s wake as she rounded the corner of her bar, deftly producing her fabled homebrew to him with her tail, swishing the bottle’s contents. He accepted the bottle graciously, tucking it into a pouch beneath his furs. “You should be proud of all you’ve accomplished Syraea, be proud of who you are.” He spoke to her in the native tongue once more, “Don’t forget, anyone gives you trouble, you send them my way,” the giant winked.

He began to stand upright and take his leave, surveying the area as he went. Some faces he recognized, such as the Rider from a few weeks back, she looked much better and less cold than when she first arrived into town. Most of the other faces were people he’d seen around town, but hadn’t properly interacted with yet, though one face in particular caught his attention. A certain red headed woman in a darker space of the dining area, sitting quietly, drinking from a mug she had both hands wrapped around. Though he intended on going to visit the sages, perhaps he could make time for a small detour and check in on his companion. Bumbling his way and squeezing in between tables, he found himself in front of the woman with burning eyes, “Good morning Miss Kira!” The blightborn smiled, “I am hoping that this day is finding you well, my friend!”

_{Interacting with Sya @PrinceAlexus & Kira @The Muse; Mentions Persephone}

---

The Eye of the Beholder

---

Nesna nodded softly at Nathaniel’s observation.

“I’ve only just arrived last night,” she affirmed. Her black lips formed a restrained smile as Nathaniel expressed his gratitude for her presence. It felt odd to hear such a thing. Evidently Nathaniel must have recognized it himself, for before her expression managed to change to show the mixed sentiments the thoughts had inspired in her, he moved to ask directly: Why?

Her expression settled into her rather indiscernible, vaguely melancholic resting face as she retreated inwards. She inhaled softly, her lips producing a small click as she moved to speak, only to close her mouth again, furrowing her brow, as the salience of the question quickly revealed itself to her. Why had she wanted to be a Sage, back before all of this? Magic had this fascinating, gripping mystery about it. It was powerful, and yet made such little sense. Yes, there had to be rules to it, and yet they were entirely different to the rest of the world in so many ways. Magic could change, transmute, make things that weren’t there, move things from afar, infiltrate the most sacred recesses of the mind—all sorts of things that regular tools had no capacity for. Nesna had always been entranced by rules, compelled by some desire she herself could not rightly ascertain the source of to follow even the most evidently ridiculous of them, simply because the rules were the rules. Rarely did anything feel more alien and dreadful than to breach some yet unknown rule. And the cosmos had rules—rules that could be followed effortlessly because they were not choices. And so too did magic, but in no respect did people yet understand all of the rules of the world. Rules, rules, rules—they were where things made sense, and finding a new rule made the world make just a bit more sense.

But why not go into law?

Law was the rules of men—rules whose reasons could endlessly be questioned and whose confines could be endlessly quibbled. If the world had a rule, however, that was simply the rule. That was that, and the only questions were what other rules there were.

As these thoughts ran through Nesna’s mind, she tensed her mouth, realizing how the matter might sound patently absurd. Or possibly induce a philosophical discussion in a tavern—which would just feel absurd!

“It’s…well I suppose it’s simply that I’d always imagined I’d work to become a Sage, or at least some manner of scholar,” she offered. She bobbed her head from side to side indecisively, before continuing, “It’s…a hard question, only in that it’s—well—it’s a silly thing, I suppose, but I’d for the longest time banished the very idea of being a Sage from my mind. After all, of what worth am I in such a sorry state? And Mother had already conducted my funeral by the time the thought crossed my mind once again…”

Nesna sighed and shook her head as she trailed off. Her ears perked up, and her eyes glowed a bit more brightly.

“But never mind that. It’s an old dream of mine that I’ve only recently had the notion I could ever even aspire to approach once again.”

As she prepared to speak on Nathaniel’s second point, Nesna drew her hand to her cheek slowly. Her eyes dulled in their glow, and her ears slumped.

“What else am I to do, though? All I’ve spent six years doing is hunting and cloistering myself with whatever book I could sneak from the family library that week. It—it, heh, it took the blight seeping into the home itself to oust me from my little rat-hole!” Nesna’s hand moved to her hair when she let out her small, forced laugh.

“I used to write stories about myself just to pass the time. But now…it’s here. It’s almost real…” There she was, all but talking to herself more so than to Nathaniel. She caught herself and paused, bringing her hand back down. She cleared her throat, and continued.

“But I digress. I wish to be of some use in my life, or, I suppose, whatever one might call this state I’m in. Even if I don’t end up being of much worth, I should hope I might at least make a halfway decent scribe—and I suppose, be able to tell myself that I tried whenever that final death comes. Tried to live out a shadow of what my former purpose might have been…”

Nesna tightened her lips, almost frustrated with herself.

“Pardon me. I’m what one might call a melancholic sort. And still returning to the land of the living, so to speak. I’m…heh,”—she let out a more sincere-sounding laugh than the previous one—“only on my second day of conversation in six years! I do hope I’m not that out of practice!”

Nesna closed her eyes and let out another laugh as she brought her fist to her mouth for a moment.

“And I realize once again, I’ve neglected even to introduce myself! Oh, how I really am out of practice indeed!”

Nesna offered a deep curtsey to Nathaniel, saying “Please, it is a pleasure to meet a Sage. You may call me Nesna.”

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71

---

Royal Residence, at Some Unholy Hour in the Morning

---

The overnight lockdown had served Ramona poorly. The routine she’d so carefully assembled was shot. When she first woke from thirst in the middle of the night, she habitually rose from her bed quickly, only to realize that she could not risk going out to do her business, for there would surely be heavy patrols around the royal residence—patrols which might uncover the terrible truth. And a blightborn in the service of a princess of Lunaris? Blightborn in Dawnhaven though there were—her deception was, as she understood, somewhere in the domain of treason. And how could a princess who’d just been attacked by a blightborn then sit idly by after learning a maid was secretly one of the same set of terrors that was rogue?

Ramona looked back to her bed. She was too thirsty not to drink anything, and yet doing so would surely force her to figure something out—something new and therefore, most likely, incredibly risky given the circumstances. With a sigh, Ramona looked at the bucket sitting near her bed. The bucket full of water, which, on a normal night, she would have guzzled half of now and half of on her return from cutting back the influences of the blight. She cupped some of the water in her hands—getting quite a portion for how the webbing was already creeping back up her fingers. It was always the first to return, and the most troublesome to fight back—for it meant she needed a steady flow of bandages to wear under gloves.

Ramona took one sip, and then allowed herself a second. She still felt parched. She descended carefully to the floor and sat cross-legged in front of the bucket. She closed her eyes, rubbed her face, and held back a groan, until it wriggled out from her in the form of a prolonged, strained wheeze. Ramona leaned forward, and splashed her face with the water, rubbing the water in carefully, trailing water to every bit of exposed skin, including that on her neck. Then, she dipped her arms into the bucket, rubbing water into them, and finally repeated the process to make an attempt at moisturizing her legs.

Ramona clasped the little necklace she always wore. The locket was heavily tarnished, as was the chain. Atop the locket sat a ring, which she’d slid along the chain before putting it around her neck after wearing it had become infeasible due to her fingers’ webbing and injuries. Lifting it closer, holding the fist she clasped the locket and ring it to her cheek, Ramona rubbed the little notches along the ring—the marks from the knife after she’d had to cut the ring free of her own hand when the webbing first grew in around it.

Ramona rubbed her other hand on her slip, until it was dry enough that it hurt. She flicked it in the air several times, and then brought the cold, dry hand to her shoulder. While she rubbed her shoulder, she sighed softly, her lips tensing into what could almost be a smile.

“I miss you too,” she murmured.

Ramona sat like that for a time, until the crackling pain of her hand’s dry skin became too much. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stopped breathing. She released her grip on the locket and let it fall back to where it rested on her chest. She plunged her dry hand into the cold water, and sat, breathless, soundless, until the sharp pain began to fade. She clenched that hand and unclenched it slowly, checking to see if it had reabsorbed enough moisture. It needed a bit longer.

Her other hand tensed, bunching up a bit of her slip in her lap. The worst thing about this whole situation was how endlessly frustrating it was. Here she was, alone for the rest of however long it took to force together a dream that was supposed to be shared, plus the time it took to make sure she was dead, and she couldn’t even tell if she was crying unless something else came with the tears that might or might not have existed.

Well, crying did have another helpful indicator. Usually, there was this ominous feeling, and then it felt like being overheated and chaotic and small and helpless all at once. No, this was something more normal—even if it still felt anything but. It was this cold grief, the kind that had crept in behind the tears over the months and replaced that warm messiness with a frigid order. Crying made her want to whimper. This malaise, whatever it specifically was, felt more like breathing was a chore she had yet to get used to it. And that she needed to remind herself to take every next breath—a feeling all the more salient now that she wouldn’t necessarily be reminded by that feeling of breathlessness that once, on the odd occasions she’d felt this way before, shook her out of it. It was like a heavy fog, now sitting in a valley which never got any real wind to clear it away.

After glancing back at her bed, Ramona took more water and rubbed it into her face, until she finally decided to just dunk her face fully in the water. As she let her face sit in the water, she increasingly became gripped by the sinking feeling that she’d gotten all the sleep she was likely to get for the night. Either she’d be thirsty or stuck sitting up for hours doing nothing as her bladder taunted her. No, that was just plain pointless. Just a waste of time, for neither coin nor comfort.

Ramona groaned as she sat back up. May as well mop…

And so, Ramona began the task of getting dressed. Her work clothes themselves weren’t, admittedly, the part made it a task. Rather, it was undergarments. Her night-slip was probably the only comfortable option she had, and yet, it wasn’t worth possibly damaging it with hard work. It wasn’t as if she could go get a new sealskin to make into a new slip. But to keep her skin moist and her clothes dry, that meant alternatives. And the alternative was spectacularly sub-pleasant.

A long-sleeved shift…made of animal intestines. It didn’t smell and was overall a decent article of clothing…to wear over an outfit as a raincoat. Wearing something made of intestine as an undergarment, though? The damned thing clung. It was just always clinging, sticking to slick skin, and for its water-retardant properties offered the rather unenviable sensation that Ramona was swimming in her sleeves. But it was either this or look like she was sweating through her clothes in less than half a day. Which very much wasn’t an option.

So on the shift went, then a second, normal shift, then her customary plain, dark, woolen dress that went to her wrists, ankles, and covered her neck. Then the apron—the only light coloured piece of her outfit. Finally, her headwear. Veil, headscarf, then shawl. Finally, shoes and gloves. Her gloves fit uncomfortably for how her webbing had already begun to creep back up her fingers. If she didn’t take care of it by the next night, it’d be at the first joints in her fingers by the next morning. How grand. Just, grand. Before she left her room, she looked back and pulled some dried ephedra from a container hidden among her things. Today, she had earned some special tea.

Once she closed the door with the plant in hand, Ramona stifled her own groan as she began to review the tasks at hand.

It then occurred to Ramona that since everyone was surely asleep, she could at least have a much easier time of washing than usual, since she could ditch her gloves rather than the awkward way she normally went about it, at least for the first task or two. It was something, anyway. So, then. The dishes were the most trouble with gloves on, so that could come first today, even though it really wouldn’t be necessary until much closer to breakfast for the other servants. In, probably four or five hours.

Once her tea had brewed, Ramona got to it.

Really, without gloves to make the whole task into a complicated affair of carefully directing water magic. And there was something almost pleasant about it, with the warm water and lovely Aurelian soap. It felt peaceful, for a moment. With her hands submerged in the warm water of the basin, rubbing the grease from each plate and piece of cutlery barehanded. Feeling the warmth creep up her arms, it felt almost like she could close her eyes, open them, and be on her way home.

Ramona let herself live the fantasy for a moment. As she fell into the fantastic trance, she quietly, creakily hummed a song to herself for a time. As the task captured more of her attention still, she began to whisper. And at last, quietly, she began to sing its lyrics.

“Come to me, my dear, tomorrow
Without your smile, I have no light
Eyes like stars, bringing me from night
Come the day, we’ll go
We’ll go far from here

All that I want, is written right on your lips
As the Goddess gave to you
To hold in my hands, this blesséd visage
All of my dreams are just of you”

Her voice, unused and unmolested by dust, was not yet so raspy as it was by evening. Perhaps it wasn’t anything to perform, but every lyric slipped from her lips all the same as she fell into the familiar tune from another lifetime.

…

The dishes went by fast. So too did the preparations for the morning meal. Dusting without having to conceal her cough made the entire affair so much easier—and before she knew it, she’d rid everywhere but the bedrooms of ashes from the fireplace, swept, mopped, and cleaned every piece of furniture.

How did singing make it all easier? How did simply pretending all was well make life go by so quickly? What cruel trick was it, that the easiest things went by the fastest? Ramona found herself scrambling to get her gloves back on as the other servants in the house stirred, and found herself smiling as the scullion noticed that even the kitchen was cleaned. Then, an excitement began to grip her. She lit the fires, stripped the servants’ beds, did the laundry, and though she found herself panting, out of breath as she feverishly cleaned the dishes from the servants’ breakfast, she realized she’d managed it. The royals hadn’t yet opened their door, and she was all but done with the chores of the day that could yet be done.

An inconvenience had, for once in a blue moon, become a blessing in disguise.

Quickly, Ramona left a note on the door of her quarters.

‘Woke up early & could not sleep. Began chores early, so I am visiting the Temple to light a candle.

– Ramona’

She wouldn’t have forever, as the royals would surely rise eventually, but for how hectic the day before had been, Ramona hoped she’d have time for a real, proper prayer. Maybe even a blessing.

Slipping out a side door in her heavy cloak, carrying three homemade candles and the bread and cheese she’d been given for breakfast with her in a pouch, Ramona walked with purpose towards the Seluna Temple. Silently, she observed in the distance as someone else entered the temple. Good; she wasn’t too early. Shortly after that woman entered, Ramona herself slipped past the door and closed it quietly. Then, she turned around.

Ramona froze in place as she laid eyes on Elara.

‘Fuck,’ she thought.

The unusual optimism that the morning had accumulated drained immediately as Ramona saw the Princess’ handmaiden at the temple. Her heart sank.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck’

Of course. The bodies. Everyone was probably going to be here soon. Why had she so stupidly thought she could have a quiet moment in the temple?

And why did she think she could sneak away, even just for a bit?

Mentions
Elara @Qia, Katherine @SpicyMeatball

Desmond was on his way to the Seluna Temple as part of exploring the town. He has seen most of it by now, and it was clear it was a growing town. While his buildings are not yet done, it was nice to see most of the town being done and ready for any blizzard. Even getting a chance to see the royals' residence. Quite the sight, but that is a given since it is the royals' place, after all.

Though he figured that now he was out and about, he should visit the Seluna Temple to see how that was. Desmond was bound to go there eventually and now seemed like the best time for it. Plus, the cold was starting to get to him because of the heavy snowfall, despite Silver seeming quite content at the moment.

He chuckled to himself at the thought as he walked down the snow-covered path, sometimes gazing at the nearby lake. Though even she would be grateful to get out of the heavy snow, at least for some time. Granted, it must be an odd sight for anyone around. A partly wool, partly fur-clothed man with a large owl on his shoulder just walking around town. He even bet they would be surprised that he was a merchant and not a hunter.

Still, as Desmond got closer and closer to the temple. He started to make it out and despite the falling snow. It was quite a sight, it reminded him of the temple where he lived. As he reached the front door. Desmond tried to make himself look presentable and brush off the snow that was on him. Once that was done, Desond spoke to Silver, "please do not mess with the priestesses like the last time I brought you to a temple."

Silver simply hooted but had an understanding look in her eyes.

"Good, and here we go," He said to himself as he opened the door and entered the temple.

Quickly entering and closing the door so the snow and cold does not get in. After that, Desmond took a moment to look around but noticed when Silver flew off his shoulder and would fly around for a time before landing right next to who looked like a priestess and her guests. Desmond quickly moved his way to Silver, and she would fly up and land on his right shoulder when he was close. Desmond, in a sorry tone, spoke to the priestess. "I am sorry about my owl, and I hope I did not interrupt anything."

Interact - @Qia, @SpicyMeatball, @enmuni

Zeph sat alone at his usual table in the tavern, scowling at his meager breakfast. Leftovers from the feast—but no pastries. He took a swig of coffee to make up for it, the bitter warmth doing little to improve his disappointment.

Around him, the tavern bustled with early “morning” activity—guards and townsfolk coming and going, the clatter of plates and mugs, the occasional bark of laughter. But he stayed quiet, nursing his drink, letting the dull hum of conversation blur into the background.

His gaze flicked across the room and landed on Nesna, not far from where he sat, sticking out from the crowd like a sore thumb. She was talking to two of the royal guards—and someone else. A slim, dark-haired man, dressed like a scholar. A sage or some type of wealthy merchant, he’d guess. Zeph studied him for a moment, sizing him up, then dismissed the thought. Nesna seemed to be settling in well with the townspeople, despite her rough start. That was good, he supposed.

His attention shifted back to the royal guards—particularly Lord Coswain. Zeph had known he was in town. The barracks had been buzzing about it ever since he and Zeph’s old unit arrived. Still, seeing him in the flesh stirred something bitter in his chest. The grizzled old man had aged since Zeph last saw him, lines etched deeper into his face. It had been some time since they'd last seen each other—a little over a year. He had no intention of speaking to Coswain, but even so, Zeph was relieved to see him alive. Though, he wondered why Coswain was here.

Strange, how despite Zeph being cast out from the unit, they’d both ended up in the same place anyway.

Just as he considered getting up, a familiar blond Lunarian guard—Voss—slid into the seat across from him, coffee in hand. "Where's Hawthorne?" the man asked casually.

Zeph raised a brow, meeting Voss’s dark brown eyes. "...Who?"

The fellow guard looked at him like he was slow. "The Aurelian recruit? Heard old Volkov stuck you with a trainee."

Zeph leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. "News to me."

Voss chuckled, shaking his head. "Figures."

Of course, Volkov would saddle him with an Aurelian. Clearly, he wasn’t letting Zeph off easy. He wondered if Aliseth had gotten a similar punishment, or something worse. Had he seen a Psychic magic user to pry his mind apart yet?

Zeph sighed, taking another slow sip of his coffee. "An Aurelian?" He already didn’t like where this was going.

"Yep."

Zeph swirled the liquid in his mug, considering that for a moment. "You know where he’d be?"

Voss snorted. "She. And no.”

Zeph went still, his cup hovering near his lips before he set it down. He grimaced internally. An Aurelian woman. Because historically, they had been so receptive to direction and constructive criticism. He could already feel the headache forming.

"I’ll find her," he muttered, though it was supposed to be his day off.

Voss leaned back in his chair. "Where were you last night, anyway? You missed cards. Tav took all my coin this time."

Zeph just smiled, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. "Busy."

A blond brow lifted. "Oh? Found yourself a new friend?" Voss smirked, clearly assuming Zeph had spent the night entangled with someone. Zeph let him think so, staying silent and letting the insinuation linger.

His mind, however, trailed back to Ivor and the Priestess, to the night before—the cavern, the blood, the cold.

As if conjured by thought, the tavern door opened again, and in strode Ivor, accompanied by the serpentine innkeeper, Sya. As always, Ivor’s presence was impossible to miss. The giant man greeted the room with a booming voice and a grin. Zeph raised his mug in return, along with a few other patrons.

Tracking the giant’s movements, Zeph watched as he made a beeline for—

Zeph’s heart skipped.

Red hair. Glowing eyes. Flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows over fox-like features.

As if he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things correctly, his gaze narrowed, trying to make out the rest of her face from across the tavern. And then, as if sensing his stare, those fiery orange eyes locked onto his.

He didn’t look away. Neither did she.

They held each other’s gaze for a few long heartbeats. Then, a slow, knowing smile curled at her lips—just enough to reveal the razor edge of a canine. Her tongue flicked over it, deliberate. And then, as if dismissing him, she turned away, her expression smoothing as she looked up at Ivor. Her smile softened, her manner relaxed, as if she hadn’t just bared her teeth at Zeph.

What the fuck is she doing here?

Zeph exhaled slowly through his nose, expression unreadable.

"Hale?"

Zeph blinked, realizing he’d completely tuned out whatever Voss had just said. He tore his gaze from the woman in the corner and looked back at the guard.

"You know that one?" He didn’t bother being subtle about it, gesturing toward the redhead.

Voss followed his line of sight, brow furrowing. "Not really. Seen her around. Think she runs an herb shop or somethin’."

Zeph scoffed, smirking. "An herb shop?"

His gaze flicked back to her. She was still speaking with Ivor, composed and unbothered, as if Zeph’s presence meant nothing at all.

He downed the rest of his coffee and stood. "I’ll have to stop by sometime," he mused.

Voss chuckled. "Sure you will.”

"But first," Zeph sighed dramatically, "Seems I’ve got to go find this Hawthorne person." He made it sound like the most exhausting task in the world.

With a lazy wave to Voss, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped back out into the cold.

Honestly, he had no interest in asking around for the Aurelian recruit. He barely spoke to the Aurelian guards, and the thought of mingling with them sounded miserable. Volkov had known exactly what he was doing with this. The prick.

So instead of heading for the barracks, he decided to check on Tia.

An Aurelian he could tolerate.

She had burned through a lot of energy saving his life last night. It was only right to make sure she was alright. Plus, maybe she, or her Keeper—the ever-charming Champion—would know who this Hawthorne person was.

And if the Champion didn’t let him speak to the Priestess?

Well. He’d find a way. He always did.