[center]Sapharan, High City, Capital of Lanostre[/center][hr]

Galahad stood at the edge of the bridge, waiting for the others to catch up. At the precipice, a hair's breadth from the empty sky that fell inbetween the two mountains. His brows were furrowed slightly as the cold breeze pulled at his golden hair and chapped his lips. He hadn't been home in over a decade, but this wasn't quite what he expected. He couldn't quite place a finger on why that was. The city felt quiet, peaceful, even the Varyan soldiers marching through the streets seemed quiet. The only noises Galahad heard was the howl of wind moving through the valley, and the sound of the girls' boots clattering off the stonework bridge. The city of warriors was peaceful.

Galahad had stood at this very spot before, the day before he left for the Red Seminary, taking in the city one last time. He remembered the clockwork ethermoths swirling around his face. Their light illuminated grime covered blacksmiths at their etherforges hammers slamming against steel long into the night, warriors proud and tall in their glistening armor sharing boisterous stories about their exploits- exploits that Galahad had dreamed of completing one day. The city was nothing like he remembered. The etherforges were silent, and the warriors whom Galahad could now best with little more than a flick of his wrist were nowhere to be found. Even the Ethermoths seemed to lack their lustre. 

Galahad's fist clenched. His city wasn't his city anymore, and it upset him. Much like his childhood, the city felt lost to him. Uncharacteristic rage took him. Part of Galahad wanted to lash out at anything and everything around him, to cast sigils of destruction and to tear asunder stone with his mind. Will his city to come back to life and return to how it used to be. But the footsteps of his companions catching up to him reeled him back. He breathed out deeply and turned as they passed him, effortlessly falling in step with the two female Inquisitors.

Tatiana asked him about his family as they walked. He felt her eyes turn to him every so often, but he couldn't meet her gaze. While she wasn't an empath like Astraea, Tatiana could always tell when Galahad was troubled. Something about the way his eyes hardened giving it away she had once said. "I couldn't know for sure." Galahad replied with a shrug. "I had sent a letter giving word to my family before we left for Sapharan, so I wouldn't have been able to receive a reply. I don't imagine my father is home, he left with the First Armada."

Galahad didn't respond as Tatiana joked about him being a prince, rolling his eyes in exasperation. Their conversation continued aimlessly until they reached a crossroads of sort. Tatiana bid him farewell with a smile and scurried off down the street, leaving Galahad alone with his thoughts. It felt strange to him, though he didn't know why. Galahad was used to being alone, going off on his own to concentrate, research spells, or further his ether conditioning. Being alone was something he was used to- but this feeling, feeling truly alone- was an odd, cold feeling indeed. No Ragnar to compete with, no Tatiana to calm them down when their arguments got heated, nothing. Just the cold empty city around him.  

Still watching Tatiana as she scampered off, Galahad realized he hadn't moved from that spot in a few minutes, and that Tatiana was long gone from his field of view. Pulling his cloak closer around his body, Galahad reluctantly made his way towards his own home, stopping a few times along the way to reorient himself and remember old landmarks.[hr]

The Quaid Manor was a large home of classic Lanostran architecture, built from slabs of white marble and gilded with the Quaid family crest. For all of its grandeur, for all of Galahad's growth since he left, the home felt as cold and imposing as it always did as Galahad made his way up the steps of the building. At the front door, a servant silently welcomed him, holding the door open for him as he entered. The interior of the manor was just as opulent as the outside. Fine carpeting stretched across the cold marble floor, its high walls and ceilings adorned with gold and jewel encrusted weapons and artwork. The ceiling itself was a tapestry of the Quaid family line, and its accomplishments, starting generations back, endless depictions of gallant Quaid men bearing pristine white plate, until finally reaching the end- a blonde figure covered in a black robe. 

Galahad made his way to his parent's chambers, where the dim glow of the hearth warmed the room with its orange glow. His mother was waiting for him as he entered. An aging, but elegant woman dressed in fine cloths and silks. She regarded him with a regal, formal nod. "Galahad." she said plainly, her greeting distant and formal, almost cold.

Galahad dipped his head forward in a bow. "Mother." He replied cordially.

"You've returned."

"I have."

"Will you be staying long?"

"No."

"You will be joining us for dinner?"

"Of course."
 
Dinner was a grand, if quiet affair. The massive dining table had been set for a mere two, Galahad and his mother. Servants passed trays of delectable food between the mother and son, while a minstrel quietly played a lute in the corner. The Quaids ate in silence, almost as though the other wasn't there. Not even the servants spoke, wordlessly offering food to their silent masters as the sound of silverware clinking against china accented the soft minstrel. 

As the dinner ended, the Lady Quaid motioned for a servant to attend to her. She whispered something into his ear and the servant nodded, walking off with some measure of urgency. Moments later he returned with a bundle of deep red silks. Gingerly, the servant offered the bundle to Galahad. Glancing to his mother for the first time in hours, Galahad reached out and unfurled the silk that covered the contents of the servant's offering. Dark leather inlayed with subtle veins of gold concealed the blade of a long, red and gold hilted saber. For Lanostrans, the truest work of art was a finely crafted weapon- and this was arguably among the finest.

Taking the weapon in his hands, Galahad drew the weapon partially out of its scabbard, revealing the gun mechanism attached to the sword and the blade itself, a shimmering mithril-steel so brilliant that Galahad would've suspected it to be actual silver if it weren't a Lanostran weapon.

"Your Father had that sword commissioned when you went off to the Red Seminary." His mother said, speaking to him for the first time since dinner had started. "He believes it will serve you well, in your days to come."

"I am grateful." Galahad replied as he resheathed the blade. "It is a shame he is not home for me to thank him personally."

"It is."[hr]

Returning to his comrades, Galahad felt acutely aware of the weight that hung to his hip as he waited for them to show up. They were to meet back in Bridgetown. Galahad was the first one back. Again he stood at the edge of the skybridge, his hand gingerly thumbing at the grip of his new blade. He made no real movement as Astraea returned, only turning to look when Tatiana returned to complete their group. She bound up as happily as ever, smiling and wide eyed. Something about her softened the chunk of ice that was Galahad's heart. Though he normally found himself jealous of how upbeat she was, something was different about her this time.

Galahad was no empath like Astraea, but he was close enough to Tatiana to know when something was wrong. Her smile was as broad as ever-almost too broad, and her beautiful eyes, while wide and glistening, hid with something more somber behind them. Still, he never deigned to pry into her problems. If she wanted to tell him about it she would. Instead, Galahad waited for her to reach his side before he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed it knowingly, despite not knowing what troubles she went through. An subtle pang of warmth laced his otherwise even voice.

"Welcome back, Little One."