[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/660ZHgx8/Elara-Moonshadow.png[/img][/center][hr][right][sub]Location: Seluna Temple
Interactions: Ramona ([@enmuni]), Céline ([@Beard Dad]), Orion 
Mentions: N/A [/sub][/right][hr]
[indent]Elara maintained her composed stance, shoulders neither stiff nor entirely slack, the posture of someone long accustomed to internalizing pressure without letting it show outwardly. Her observant eyes tracked certain particulars of Céline’s movement, like how the other woman steadied herself with that final, telling squeeze of Orion’s arm. Elara recognized it wasn't weakness prompting the gesture now; it felt different, a physical showing of the brief closeness they’d shared. Reassurance, perhaps? The young woman was uncertain. Either way, the action spoke of a connection deeper than mere acquaintance. Or, at least, that was her assumption. 

Céline then offered her name openly, and Elara’s focus sharpened instantly, her gaze becoming more intent. A freely given name, especially under these strained circumstances, carried its own weight; it signified a certain willingness, perhaps even a cautious trust. Elara registered the importance, filing it away as she prepared her response.

“[color=royalblue]Céline,[/color]” Elara repeated, her voice a low murmur as she gave a slight, respectful nod. “[color=royalblue]You handled yourself just fine.[/color]” She meant it as well; the woman had shown composure despite whatever heavy emotions she may have just experienced. So, Elara offered the words as a factual assessment on her part. All the while, she watched for Céline’s reaction, gauging the impact of her simple statement.

Orion said nothing, of course.  He didn’t need to. The way he adjusted his stance, just subtly enough to keep Céline in his periphery, spoke volumes. Elara noticed, though she made no outward show of it. He’d let her go, yes, but his awareness hadn’t drifted. 

She wondered if he even knew he did that, if he was conscious of this seemingly ingrained habit of guardianship. 

Céline’s explanation came next, offered with care, and Elara didn’t interrupt. She listened, instead, like someone trained not to speak over pain, even when it wasn’t hers. But at the question—“[color=60cf11]Did either of you know the deceased?[/color]”—something shifted in her expression. Her gaze seemed to turn momentarily inward, accessing a memory.

“[color=royalblue]Not well,[/color]” the handmaiden said at last, and for a moment her voice thinned, hushed more by memory than shame. “[color=royalblue]His name was Sir Abel. He died protecting the princess. And protecting me.[/color]” The final three words were added softly, a necessary fact, not a boast. She felt the familiar pang, distant but present.

Orion’s gaze finally flicked directly towards her, not in surprise—his knowledge of the event was clear—but in a silent, grim acknowledgment of the shared reference point. Yet, Elara resisted the urge to elaborate further as she had with Ramona. She deliberately omitted the visceral details: how close Abel had actually fallen to her, how the spreading pool of his lifeblood had, upon later reflection, crept perilously near her own boots. 

The intimacy of that horror belonged to her and her nightmares alone.

“[color=royalblue]He wasn’t mine to mourn,[/color]” she merely added, her tone softening further, emphasizing the princess’s greater claim to grief. “[color=royalblue]But if you came to pay your respects, I think… he would’ve liked that.[/color]”

Elara felt the weight of Orion's stare settle upon her. His gaze held that familiar, heavy seriousness he always carried that she’d heard much about, impossible to fully decipher but felt regardless. Yet, she also detected a silent recognition passing between them. They had never fought side-by-side, of course, with the two occupying very different roles, but both understood the particular burden of watching someone die for your life. This shared understanding, unspoken but palpable, created a brief connection in the cold air.

“[color=#0054a6]He died with purpose. That matters more than most endings do,[/color]” Orion finally said. Elara could hear the conviction in his tone, the soldier’s belief in a meaningful death. She understood he intended it as a kind of comfort, a way to frame Abel’s sacrifice positively. He was trying to offer perspective on the brutal reality. That death could come at any moment, especially when standing on the lines of one’s duty. 

Yet still. 

“[color=royalblue]Maybe.[/color]” The word slipped out before Elara could temper it, softer than denial, but not quite agreement. “[color=royalblue]It still felt like… too much to me. For too little time. I don’t think he even saw it coming.[/color]” Her tone didn’t waver, but there was a shadow of helplessness behind it. “[color=royalblue]He gave everything, and I never got the chance to ask his name until [i]after[/i] he’d stopped breathing.[/color]” The frustration was clear: the lack of connection, the anonymity before the ultimate gift. She felt the sharp regret of never truly knowing the man who saved her.

Orion didn't reply immediately. His eyes drifted away from her, looking past her shoulder towards the temple entrance or the falling snow. He seemed to be gazing at something far away, perhaps a memory only he could see. Elara watched his profile, wondering what thoughts her words had stirred within him, while deciding to wait for his response, sensing he wasn't ignoring her but rather searching for his own version of the truth.

“[color=#0054a6]Most were quick to forget what I was… for what I am now.[/color]” 

His words arrived, quiet but carrying a distinct bitterness. They weren't pointedly directed at Elara, yet their meaning struck her forcefully.

He shifted slightly, barely enough to be noticed by anyone but Céline, the person closest to him. Then, with that same grave calm:

“[color=#0054a6]Where I’m from, dying with purpose doesn’t guarantee remembrance. Not if your blood offends the wrong people.[/color]” His gaze cut briefly toward her. “[color=#0054a6] You remembering him? That’s more than some of us get for a lifetime.[/color]”[/indent]