Lucavion walked through the dimly lit streets of Varenthia, the cold night air settling over him like a second skin. The echoes of the city had quieted now, the chaos of battle nothing more than a memory painted in blood and smoke. The weight of exhaustion pressed into his bones, but his steps remained steady, his posture as effortless as ever.
Above him, the sky stretched vast and starless—no comforting light, no celestial glow to guide him. Only the remnants of a long night and the distant hum of a city in transition.
And then—
[They were courteous,] Vitaliara's voice drifted into his mind, smooth yet contemplative. [Not something you would expect from mere bandits.]
Lucavion chuckled softly. "It is often those who face the hardships of the world that show the most courtesy."
Vitaliara fell silent.
