Our circular clump tightens into a single line as we flock towards the elongated staircase leading up to the top deck. Once I reach the foot, something in my periphery demands my attention. Attracting my eye, Primus Kelan captures my gaze.
Awash by a brilliant noontide sun. Armed in his full Primus uniform, burgundy armour gleaming, his cape rustling in long ripples behind him. His hand rested on the pommel of the sword, inky eyes fixated on me, undistracted by the wisps of black that flutter along his forehead and temples, the rest of his luxuriant hair slicked back, the sides maintained to a low fade.
I have not spoken to him in weeks.
"Hera Aurora, if you do not mind," Markiveus says, his insolent tone grated by irritation. "Some of us are eager to board the ship of doom and sail to our deaths."
