“No one [i]has[/i] magic,” Drust answered Ghent’s first question with an impatient sigh. “It’s something you [i]seek.[/i] Either you find it, or you don’t. It can be a finicky thing, but there are some with the capability of breaking past its barriers and accessing it to its fullest extent.”
	Elayra mimicked Ghent’s smirk when he shook her hand. “I can ask nicer, if you’d rather,” she offered flippantly, a mild, almost playful threat in her voice.
	She turned from him and went to a stray box. She scooted it over, stacked another on top of it, tested her weight on it, then sat. She leaned against the metal bars of the shelving behind her as Ghent asked about their relation to him.
	“Uncle Drust,” Elayra repeated slowly toward the ceiling, trying out the title. “You make one interesting uncle.”
	Drust glared at her, his neck twitching.
	“I mean that as a compliment.” Elayra returned his stare.
	He snorted, then looked to Ghent. “I am [i]far[/i] from being your uncle, boy. Merely Drust will suffice.” 
	“Drust’s one of the best White Knights from Heart Castle,” Elayra explained, her expression growing solemn. “My guardian and trainer. And yours now as well, it would seem. As for you and me, we lived in the castle. Our… our parents were good friends, and thus so were we.”