Oso

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

---

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Mentions / Interactions: @Tae Kali, @princess Lottie, @Apex Sunburn Sjan-dehk

---

Cassius didn’t speak right away.

He just let her words hang in the space between them quietly like they were too honest to be spoken any louder. They sank into him, slowly...and for a moment, he felt seen in a way that made his chest tighten.

Not by judgment or by pity. Just seen. And, that should’ve made him feel better. Maybe even relieved. Instead, it made something in him pull back...and bury it. Not fully but just enough. It was out of instinct and due to the reality that it was the only way he was equipped to deal with these things. It was all he’d ever known.

He gave a slow exhale through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite as soothing as it should have been. His shoulders shifted, like maybe he could shake it off, even if just for now.

His eyes found hers again, the corners of his mouth twitching upward with the beginnings of a smile.

“I could say the same about you, ya know.”

He said it with that low, crooked grin of his fully appearing on his face, and then turned his head just enough to glance toward Sjan-dehk. It wasn’t subtle...It wasn’t meant to be.

The wink he threw the man’s way was exaggerated, almost theatrical, like he was trying to make her laugh. Or maybe trying to keep himself from falling into something he couldn’t climb out of.

“I see the way you look at him.”

He let that sit there for a second, then gave her an ornery look.

“Guess we’re both in trouble, eh?”

He said it a little too softly, like maybe he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Like saying it made it more real. His gaze drifted, not to Charlotte this time, no, he didn’t dare in this moment...but rather to somewhere lower, somewhere safer. Somewhere less like her eyes.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, letting his jaw flex before forcing a grin back into place. And then he bumped Kali's shoulder with his, a quiet nudge that said more than he’d probably let himself say out loud.

“We’ll both be fine, right? Probably. Maybe.”

He looked at Kali again with the gift of a wink of her own. There was something flickering behind his eyes. Something few had seen from him.

“But seriously...Candy...or...something harder, would be just about perfect right now.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Warrior
Location: Airship; Top Deck - Bar
Interactions/Mentions: @FunnyGuy Wendel, @Potter Arya & Stella
Equipment:

equipment

☼ Tower Shield
☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.)
☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook.
☼ Aged Leather Satchel
☼ Worn but cherished scarf
☼ Maintenance Kit .
☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself).
☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake.
☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.

Attire:
☼ Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents.
☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies.
☼ Worn scarf
Gold Balance: 44 gold
Injuries:
☼ None, but signs of past battle damage remain.

The glass of water had not moved, and neither had Bastion. He remained by the stool where Talis had been, one hand resting gently on the edge of the counter, the other idle at his side…as if waiting for instructions that would never come. When Wendel spoke, Bastion turned toward him, quiet and steady, his optics focusing with a subtle shift.

“Don’t hang up on it too much, Bastion. The lass might have spilled it with how fast she was moving.”

A slow nod was his reply, small and thoughtful, before his gaze returned once more to the glass. The light behind his eys drew in faintly, not dimming exactly, but concentrating, as if trying to see something beneath the surface of the water that wasn’t truly there. Something lingered behind the glass, something unsaid, something only he could feel, and even then, only barely.

Then a gentle voice reached him.

“That’s a lovely scarf, Mr. Warforged. Are you all right?”

He turned again, this time more carefully. Arya sat nearby, her voice kind, her eyes kind too. The sort of kindness that resonated with him. Her skin shimmered like the stars he sometimes watched when the world felt too full, and she had noticed something in him that most did not.

“Yes,” he said, softly, “Thank you. I am operational.”

He reached up then, fingers brushing over the fabric wrapped around his neck. It had been given to him, years ago, and he wore it not for function but for meaning, which was strange for someone who had been built without the need for either warmth or sentiment. But it mattered to him, and that was enough.

Wendel spoke again, his voice steady and familiar.

“… Bastion… You can always… watch them. Just like you do with the birds. A friend of mine calls it people watching.”

The phrase struck something deep. Bastion’s head tilted, just slightly, as if to better hear the weight of the words. People watching. He had no term for it before now, no proper classification, but he knew the behavior well. On the docks, in gardens, on rooftops and railings, in the corners of rooms while others danced or played or simply lived. He had watched them all, curious, quiet, studying the way their hands moved when they were happy, the way their voices lifted in laughter, the ways they leaned toward one another when they were safe. All to be more like them, more like the other biologicals.

People watching. That’s what it was. The word felt right. He would keep it.

“Or you can… make new friends. And she even has a bird.”

Bastion’s gaze flicked toward Arya again, then toward Stella, perched and proud. He studied the two of them, something soft flickering in the center of his chest. He gave a nod, slow but certain, and spoke gently.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

He adjusted the scarf at his neck, almost like a reflex, and then lowered his hand to the sun painted on his chest once more. His fingers found the golden lines, tracing them slowly, thoughtfully, the way someone might retrace the path of a memory. But his eyes never left Arya.
“You have a bird. Just as Wendel said. Just as I see there with you. Is it…fun having a bird?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

---

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Dining Hall
Mention: @JJ Doe Hala
Attire: A Suit Fit For A True Artist

---

Milo’s smile deepened with each word Hala offered, not in mockery or defense, but with a kind of radiant amusement that suggested he had just been handed the loveliest compliment in the world. His eyes never left them, warm and attentive, as if Hala’s performance had become his new favorite painting.

“I must admit, you have quite the talent for critique,” he said, his voice soft and velvety, like an intimate note passed in the dark. “There’s something delicious in being so thoroughly observed, especially by someone who clearly understands the theater of it all. If I knew you would be watching so closely, I might have choreographed my outburst more intentionally.”

He gestured idly to the space where the confrontation had fizzled, his fingers dancing in the air as if tracing invisible brushstrokes. “Still, you’re generous to praise the scene, and even more generous to call it art. Most would label it scandal, perhaps drama, but you saw a composition.”

With a little hum of admiration, Milo’s gaze drifted to the glint of their rings and earrings, the poise in their posture, the way they spoke like they were painting the moment with their own palette. “You have a dangerous sort of charm, you know. The kind that makes artists want to immortalize you in oil and gold leaf, and then quietly destroy the canvas so no one else gets to see it.”

He let that sit in the air for a moment, indulgent and sweet, before continuing...his tone still light, but now tinged with something quietly profound.

“I have been called a creator of moments, a summoner of reactions, an arbiter of consequences... and I suppose there is truth in that. But I believe it is not only those things I create. It is not only feeling or spectacle, though those are lovely in their own right.”

He stepped forward just slightly, not to impose, but to let the sincerity thread through the air between them.

“I create history. Quietly, carefully, and sometimes without permission. That is the true art, I think. To leave something behind that no one can forget, even if they never quite remember how it started.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, though his smile betrayed the self-awareness in every word, he added with a charming tilt of his head,
“Humbly, of course.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Mentions/Interactions: Ezekiel @helo

She inhaled through her nose, held it for a moment, then spoke with measured clarity. Her voice was soft, her control returning.

“They’re located in the back corner of the hold, just behind a stack of cargo near the main ventilation shaft.”

She didn’t look away from him, didn’t blink.

“They’ve been sedated. I administered something mild to keep them unconscious and still during the transfer. It was the only viable way to bring them aboard without detection.”

Her fingers folded neatly in front of her, the gesture practiced, composed.

“The curse came from a fortune teller in Sarlona. A woman we tried to help, who responded with spite. Her pride led her astray and she died for her cruelty. She called it a blood-binding. It presents no symptoms at first, but over time it depletes the body’s strength. Quietly, persistently. They’re deteriorating from within… The very blood in their veins is killing them.”

She glanced to the portal, then back to Ezekiel. Her voice, though still soft, became even more deliberate.

“I’ve tried everything I know. I can’t stop it. But you might be able to.”

Her lips parted slightly, then pressed together again for a beat before she spoke once more.

“My name is Liana...Liana Vestra”

The smallest of pauses passed between them.

“If that makes any difference.”

She stepped aside, leaving the path open. Nothing else moved in her expression but her eyes, which remained glassy and full of restrained urgency.

“Please. I need you.”

---

Ezekiel. The portal hums softly beside her, golden light brushing the corridor like morning sun. It should feel warm, but It doesn’t.

She stands still, not pressing, just waiting. Her hands folded. Her voice soft. Her tears real… or close enough to pass for it.

She has told you everything you asked for. Every word precise. Every tear perfectly timed.

You sense no lie. And perhaps that troubles you more than if you had.

You feel the weight of her gaze. Not hostile, just desperate. But also… expectant. As if some part of her already knows the outcome.

Behind that door, there might be the dying. Or a lie. Or both. But here, in this quiet moment, all that matters is one question.

Will you follow hope... or caution?

The decision is yours.

It’s time, Ezekiel. Make your choice. Who is it that you wish to be?

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Warrior
Location: Airship; Top Deck - Bar
Interactions/Mentions: @PapaOso Talis, @FunnyGuy Wendel, @Tae Meiyu, @princess Phia, and everyone else at the bar.
Equipment:

equipment

☼ Tower Shield
☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.)
☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook.
☼ Aged Leather Satchel
☼ Worn but cherished scarf
☼ Maintenance Kit .
☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself).
☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake.
☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.

Attire:
☼ Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents.
☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies.
☼ Worn scarf
Gold Balance: 39 gold
Injuries:
☼ None, but signs of past battle damage remain.

“Don’t hang up on it too much, Bastion. The lass might have spilled it with how fast she was moving.”

Bastion turned slightly to look at Wendel, eyes glowing steady. He gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment but said nothing. Then he looked back down at the glass. The water sat perfectly still, untouched.

The lights in his optics narrowed, the soft blue edges drawing in as if squinting at something only he could see. A stillness came over him again, quiet and thoughtful, but not entirely peaceful.

Something was stirring behind the glow.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen...”

Meiyu was standing now. Moving away. Her tone was light, but Bastion didn’t fully register the mimicry or the reason behind it. Just that she was leaving, too.

He watched her disappear down the same hallway as Talis.

Then he looked around the bar. Wendel was still there. Gears was cleaning a glass. The pretty pink-haired girl named Phia and the others were chatting themselves. It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t empty.

But he felt alone.

Without really knowing why, Bastion reached up. His hand found the scarf wrapped around his neck, fingers brushing the fabric like it might help him remember something more clearly.

Then, slowly, his hand moved lower. He placed it over the golden sun etched into his chest, fingers tracing the lines gently, fondly. The paint was faded in places, but the mark remained.

His optics dimmed.

And for a moment, he didn’t move. He didn't speak. He just...was.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

---

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Mentions / Interactions: @Tae Kali, @princess Lottie, @PapaOso Milo

---

Cassius gave a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. Just release.

“Believe me, I’d love nothing more than for us to make that smug little dickhead disappear. Maybe even make a game of it. Bet we’d have lots of fun.”

His jaw shifted as his eyes flicked toward the spot where Milo had stood.

“But he knows something. Something I need before I turn the artist’s ribcage into a sculpture of my own.”

He paused, the smirk slipping.

“I’m not myself tonight, Kali.”

His voice was quieter now. Rougher. His gaze wandered without meaning to, settling again on Charlotte across the room. He didn’t even notice it until it was too late.

“Feels like I’m not in control of my mind. Or my emotions. And I hate it.”

He clenched his jaw once as he looked down, letting his eyes meet the ground below as he waited for her response. Was he even ready for whatever she’d say next? Or maybe he just wasn’t ready to be alone with the feeling.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

---

Location: The Bridge of the Stormrider
Mentions: Scratch / Val@Apex Sunburn
Interactions: First Mate Duren Reiss, Chief Deck Officer Callandra Venn

---

The wind was strong at altitude today. A clean current from the south kept the Stormrider humming like a songbird, her elemental ring pulsing with steady arcs of red and orange light as she soared through cloud and sunlight alike.

Captain Jovik Cindralis stood at the fore end of the helm, one hand on the polished wood of the wheel, the other flicking through airspeed and altitude dials built into the arcane console. His white hair was swept back, catching the light just so as it moved in perfect, effortless disarray. The sun kissed the fine trim of his officer’s coat, gold embroidery tracing sharp lines across his broad shoulders. His green eyes, keen and impossible to lie to, scanned the horizon like they always did: calm, calculating, unbothered.

They were but a day away from Sharn. No storms, no dragons, no bullshit.

Yet.

"Starboard drag on the aileron three looks a little lazy," came a voice from behind. "Pullin’ left by a hair."

"I’ve got it," Jovik murmured. He shifted the wheel slightly, muttering a short Draconic word under his breath. The elemental ring responded instantly...wobble corrected.

First Mate Duren Reiss stepped up beside him, arms crossed, half-squinting into the wind. Scarred, stocky, and carrying the vibe of a cantankerous warrior. He wore a red bandana tied tight around his shaved head and had the kind of gravel voice that came from war cries and bad whisky.

"By the way, Captain...you know we’ve got a godsdamn Karrnathi general in the mess right now? Just sittin’ there. Eating our food. Like he didn’t spend twenty years sending undead after us in the Wroat campaign."

Jovik didn’t look at him. Just adjusted a flow stabilizer rune and replied dryly, "Former general. And it’s not our food. He's passenger, which means he paid for his meals."

Duren let out a long, annoyed breath. "Doesn’t sit right, Cap. Feels like lettin’ a pyromancer nap in a hay barn. You remember what those bastards did. The smells. The screams. All the boys and girls we left in the mud. And now I gotta smile at one like we’re trading sky-pear punch recipes?"

"Wind’s shifting," Jovik said instead. "Roll pitch three degrees to port, up one on vertical lift fin. We’re catching an airstream."

Duren obeyed without missing a beat, hands moving over the secondary controls like a pianist playing from muscle memory. "You didn’t answer me."

"I did," the captain replied. "The war’s over. You don’t like it? Maybe I don't like how it all turned out either. But clinging to the hate that fueled it is how it starts again."

Duren gave a bitter chuckle. "You sound like my therapist. If I had one. Which I don’t. Because I kill problems, I don’t talk to them."

"Try it sometime."

"I’d rather arm wrestle a lich."

Jovik finally glanced his way. That damned smile. The one that turned barmaids to poets and smugglers to loyalists.

Duren groaned. "You’re probably right. As always. Doesn’t mean I’m listenin’, but you’re right."

They fell into a practiced silence, the only sound the whirring of the arcane core and the rhythmic hum of elemental fire in motion. The ship swam like a shark through the sky, graceful and deadly.

A light tap of boots against the deck announced a third voice.

"Captain?" It was Chief Deck Officer Callandra Venn...sharp-featured, brown-haired, and unflinchingly competent. "We’re getting some anomalous readings from the cargo hold. Energy flux in a small radius...not dangerous levels, but enough to trigger a core ping."

Jovik tilted his head, thoughtful. "Send Engineer Airresh to investigate."

Callandra hesitated. "Sir, Scratch is on his break. But...I can go find him, if you want."

"Please do. And let him know I owe him something fermented for the trouble. Maybe even an extra lunch break, if he's feeling greedy."

Duren snorted. "What about the girl? She's not allowed in the hold anymore. Shouldn't be allowed onboard at all in my humble opinion."

Jovik’s lips curled again, just slightly. "We both know that if Scratch is going, Val’s going. I’ve stopped wasting time trying to keep water from falling downhill. Can't run from your shadow."

Callandra gave a sly nod. "I’ll make sure Airresh is with her the whole time. Should keep things from catching fire."

"Much appreciated," the captain replied, already returning his focus to the heading readout.

Callandra turned and left, and after another brief period of that same practiced silence, Duren spoke up again, quieter this time.

"…Are you sure we can’t have a ship rule about necromancers? Like… toss ’em overboard. No trial, no fuss."

Jovik just smiled and shook his head...then adjusted the altitude ring by a quarter degree.

The Stormrider kept flying like she was born to chase the sun.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Gears

Interactions: Wendel @FunnyGuy, Val & Scratch @Apex Sunburn, Bobi

Gears was on her third round of polishing the same damn glass. Not because it needed it...it didn’t. But because her hands needed something to do. The movement kept her hands busy and her thoughts from drifting too far down memory lanes she didn’t care to revisit.
She didn’t like giving ‘em the chance.

So she scrubbed at a nonexistent smudge, eyes drifting absently toward the front of the bar...until the distinct clink of coin on wood snapped her right back to the present.

She looked up just in time to see Wendel...who, bless him, looked like someone had just handed him a golden ticket and a nap...sliding two gold coins her way like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She blinked. Once. Then twice.

“Well now,” she murmured, lifting the coins between two fingers like they might flutter away. “Either this is the best mead you’ve ever had, sweetheart… or I’m gettin’ tipped for my radiant personality.”

She gave him a soft smile. Not her usual teasing one...no, this was warmer. Real.

“You ever figure out which it is, you let me know. I’ll keep the good stuff pourin’ just the same.”

She tucked the coins away without another word. If the man needed to feel generous today, she wasn’t about to get in the way of that little bit of peace.
She then turned her attention back to her lovely, if not a bit odd, coworkers.

Vallena was already launching into food requests, talking about the honey and fruit in the cargo hold like she hadn’t been expressly banned from it.

Gears arched a metal browplate.

“Honey and fruit, huh? I betchya’ I can cook something up for you darlin.”

She looked at Scratch with a wink as he placed his own order...egg sandwich, simple and to the point. Then came the follow-up, casual but not really:

“Don’t suppose I could convince you to put everyone’s bill on the Captain’s tab?”

“Now see, this is why we can’t have nice things.”
She handed him the drink. “I could technically do that, sure. But I like my job. I like my pantry. I like my life.”

She leaned in just a bit, lowering her voice.

“And explainin’ to Jovik why I charged half the liquor shelf to his name on account of ‘a little joke’ just doesn’t feel like the hill I want to die on today.”

Then came that grin from Scratch. That little crooked thing he did when he was about to be a problem on purpose.

And sure enough...right on cue...he threw out a line about her “curvature.”

Her head turned slow, almost theatrically, and her optics narrowed at him.

She rested both hands on the counter, leaned in slightly, and with a smirk just shy of dangerous, she spoke.

“You tryin’ to sweet talk me into gettin’ your sandwich for free, darlin’? ’Cause if so, you better come with a little more heat than that. I’ve had steam valves flirt better.”

Then she glanced at Bobi, the stranger than the average gnome, and added:

“And you, sugar, don’t let him scare you off. He’s just grumpy ‘cause I won’t let him peek at the goods beneath all this armor plating.”

Val was still hanging halfway over the counter when she changed the subject, in the smallest, most sincere little voice.

“You said something about… emotional discomfort? Is something wrong?”

And for a beat...just a beat...Gears’ hands went still again.

Scratch echoed the sentiment, and for a moment, something passed over her face. Not sadness, exactly. Just... tiredness, worn gentle by time.

She leaned forward, elbows resting gently on the wood, and looked at Val...not over her, not through her, but right at her.

“Ain’t nothin’ for you to fret over, sweetheart,” she said, voice soft like worn cotton. “Just one of those mornings where the past feels a little closer than it oughta. Y’know?”

She tapped her chestplate once, lightly.

“But I’m alright. Takes more than a few old ghosts to gum up my gears.”

She smiled at both of them then, wide and bright.

“If you keep fussin’ over me like that, I’ll start mistin’ up my optics and y’all ain’t gonna have nobody to make your food. And I know how cranky Scratch can get when he’s hungry.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

---

Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate / Banquet Hall
Mentions / Interactions: @princess Lottie, @Tae Kalliope, @JJ Doe Hala

---

Milo remained pinned, spine against stone, utterly calm in a way that only made the fire behind Cassius’s eyes burn hotter.

“How do you know that name?” Cassius growled low, his voice just above a whisper, but sharp enough to cut through most men’s defenses. “And don’t play stupid again. I’ve killed men for less than dropping those words.”

Milo’s smile didn’t falter. He tilted his head slightly, his hazel eyes gleaming with interest rather than fear.

“I have my ways, bastard. But don’t worry, I can tell you’re not defined by it,” he said softly. “But gods, it does make for a fascinating footnote in your life, doesn’t it?”

Cassius stepped in closer, their faces inches apart now, his hand still gripping Milo’s collar tight enough to wrinkle the fine fabric.

“You think this is a fucking joke?”

“No,” Milo said, smile softening...not disappearing, just shifting into something more honest. “I think it’s a tragedy. And like all the best ones, you’ve rewritten the ending so many times you’ve forgotten which version is true.”

The muscles tightened in Cassius’s jaw. His breath was uneven. He wanted to throw a punch just to end the conversation...but something in him held back.

Then, a presence entered the edge of their periphery. Hala.

They approached with an unmistakable air of deliberate elegance, attention fixed squarely on Milo. But neither man moved. Neither man spoke. For a moment, it was like Hala wasn’t even there.

Milo didn’t break eye contact. Cassius’s grip didn’t loosen.

And then...

“Cassius.”

Her voice, soft and careful, sliced through the tension.

Cassius’s gaze twitched, just slightly, toward the sound of Kalliope’s voice.

Her fingers touched his arm...gentle, but brave. The kind of touch you gave a cornered wolf, trusting it wouldn’t bite. Cassius didn’t look at her right away. Not fully, but he did lean into Kalliope’s touch ever so slightly. It was a comfort in an otherwise completely tense moment.

He leaned into Milo just slightly more as well, voice dropping into that low, dangerous whisper, half threat, half promise.

“You’re lucky we’re drawing a crowd.” His lips barely moved. “Guess we’ll just have to continue this later.”

Milo’s smile widened ever so slightly, like he’d just been handed a gift. He looked over to Kalliope with a quick wink, and then turned back to Cassius with the full expression of the man who had come to be known as “Mr. Sunshine”.

“Oh, how I look forward to our next… little... chat.”

Cassius released him with a shove that was just rough enough to send his back against the pillar with a thud, but not enough to escalate or draw additional eyes their way. He turned, shoulders still tight with the remnants of fury, and moved with Kalliope like a storm rerouted. His eyes shifted to Charlotte once more as he walked, even in this moment where the air could be cut with a knife, his gaze craved hers.

As they moved further away, Cassius finally addressed her Kali's gesture, her words, and even more importantly that look. Before he spoke, he forced himself to take a long, deep breath.

"I'd be halfway to the dungeon by now if you hadn't of stepped in..." His words carried a hint of forced sarcasm, but there wasn't a single thing about them untrue. "I would have gutted that fucker, right there, in front of everyone.". Running a hand through his hair, Cas took another deep breath before meeting Kalliope's gaze fully. "So thank you, Kali...I owe you one."

Milo took a moment to breathe in the stillness that followed. He smoothed out his coat with one slow sweep of his palm, adjusted the hem of his sleeve, and flicked a speck of dust from his lapel. Then he reached up, carefully straightening his tie. Only then did he finally turn toward the other presence beside him.

His smile remained, easy and curious as he answered Hala's question.

“Hmm…Am I an artist who creates with my own hands,” Milo repeated softly, “or…do I direct others to make my vision a reality?”

He regarded Hala with a slow blink, as if nothing had happened at all.

“Why not both?”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Mentions/Interactions: Ezekiel @helo

She was silent at first.

And then…she laughed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t joyful. It was cold. Brittle. The kind of sound that didn’t belong in a place so quiet. The kind of laugh you might hear from someone standing on the edge of a rooftop, staring down into something they couldn’t climb out of.

“Of course,” she said quietly between fading chuckles, voice trembling at the edges. “Of course.”

Her gaze didn’t meet his. Not yet. She just stood there for a moment, breathing in silence. Her shoulders didn’t shake, but her hand rose...slowly, subtly...to wipe at the corner of her eye. And when she turned to look at him again…

There were tears. Not many. Just a few. Just enough to matter. Her eyes shimmered with unshed grief, glassy and golden in the dim light of the corridor. She turned toward the nearby wall...plain steel and wood, curved slightly with the hull...and lifted a hand.

Her index finger glowed faintly as she whispered something low and melodic. Arcane syllables, elegant and old. She pressed that glowing finger to the surface and began to trace, slowly, carefully, until a tall, thin rectangle formed...six feet high, etched like a door in gold light. The moment the shape was complete, the lines flared...and a glowing portal opened soundlessly, casting warm illumination across the corridor.

The air changed. Magic...real magic...swirled around her in delicate threads.

She turned back toward Ezekiel.

Her hood fell back as she did, revealing the full measure of her beauty. And it was beauty in the way a tragic statue was beautiful...flawless, cold, and carved to hold sorrow forever. Another tear streaked down her cheek, catching the gold light of the portal like a falling star.

And then, with all the gravity of a prayer, she spoke.

“Please…” Her voice cracked, just once.

“Don’t let them die.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t reach for him. Just stood there between the glowing door and the only man on the ship who might save lives… or walk away.

And in that moment, in all of perfected stoicism, all she was…was just a girl, breaking.