With the thunder of an anxious heart still bouncing against his skin, Rhoynar watched as the quarter conversed over the remains of juices and wine. There stood no sign of battle, not indications of harm, no remains of a siege; only the cheery laughter of his youngest brother. The man began his descent down the spiral stairs that connected a small railed alcove above the hall below. Rhoynar's feet carried his at a pace that bordered between a sprint and a brisk walk. The relief of seeing his family unharmed was equal to almost none. The dream had felt so real, so absolute, but as were dreams of such fear. Nightmares were never pleasurable. They existed to torture and wined the mind into a fearful state until sunrise. Rhoynar continued, the soft patter of leather on the stone floor following each step. 

"You could see the priests lighting fires and the huge cloths and all the colours-"
"Rion, the festival was too late for you to be awake."
"But, there was so much happening!" 
"You should listen to your mother. You'll never grow up to be as strong as a knight if you don't listen to her." 
The exchange, whilst short, gave Rhoynar the final ability to relax. His parents, both black of hair with skin the colour of cured leather, seemed as in love as the day they first met. His mother's soft features matching the weary but passionate expression of his father. They were a couple to be jealous of. Their short moments together, holding hands, taking a moment to admire the views, or even stealing glances across busy rooms, they were a pair to admire. His siblings shared similar features, his brother carrying his mother's soft eyes and his father jaw, stern and serious, hair as wild as their grandfather's. His sister had inherited the looks of their grandmother. Her skin shone the colour of sand, eyes blue and figure slim. She was a sight to see, hair twisted, each curl catching the sun's rays from outside. 

"But it will never happen again." Rion frowned, folding his arms and looking down at the wooden table. He soon shrieked with laughter and his father pulled him from his seat and turned up around in his arms.
"It happens every year, my boy. One day you'll be old enough to go. You're only ten summer's, you should be practicing with swords." The man laughed, tickling his son until another sight caught his eye. "Rhoynar! You're home!" Rion struggled from his father's grip and hurried over, embracing the knight's waist as tight as he could. He made his way towards the table and took a moment to greet his mother. She may have been young in appearance but the west had aged her. Her face wrinkled under her eyes and around her mouth, lines of worry and concern.

"Hello, mother." Rhoynar whispered. his arms wrapping around her shoulders. The moment was brief, but seeing her eyes content, Rhoynar felt himself relax. His father quickly handed him a cup and wine before regaling the events since their son's departure some weeks before. Rhoynar listened intently, his lips tugging into a smile as their tales of the paradise they called home became conversation once again. Astipor was a haven among the grey cities of Illuim. Vibrant with culture and a city filled with citizens of varying colour and faith, all sharing the belief of Eyo and her family. However it was only an echo of the world beyond the ocean and into the Second East. Towering cities bathed in white, homes overflowing with gold, merchant ships painted with vibrant colours, and smells beyond the imagination. Rhoynar felt the same sense of excitement to be crossing over as always.

"What did Grey want with you?" His father finally asked, cutting the conversation into silence instantly. Eight eyes turned to look at their kin, waiting to hear what one of the most powerful Lords in the west had wanted with their son. 
"He's asked me to find someth-" Rhoynar stopped, his heart racing again as a shout passed through the open windows and into the hall. His feet carried him over to the door, his mind momentarily fearing for Illinfer's safety. His eyes paused on a duo, both at arms, both at a stalemate. He soon heard the rumbling laugh of his father, the clap of his hands as he walked out into the yard. 

"Brother! She almost had you, we're going to have to get your practicing more." He chuckled, moving past Illinfer to embrace the man Rhoynar called uncle. His hair and features were almost identical, yet the greying of age had set upon the guard, his eyes tired and his hair thinning. 
"She's talented, I'll give her that." 
"Aye, but use a curved blade and she's at a loss." Rhoynar smiled, finally joining his father and uncle opposite Illinfer. He clasped the man firmly before turning to offer Illinfer a hand to rise. He would explain their quest in private, scour his father's library before leaving the city shortly after noon. They'd be across the see before the end of the fortnight.