The sound of armor echoes faintly as you approach the stables, the smell of hay mingling with the familiar scent of metal and leather. It's late, and the sky is awash in deep shades of blue and stars, but the soft glow of lanterns inside signals that someone else is here.

Temesia is there, standing beside her massive horse, Dawn. Her figure is as imposing as ever, clad in heavy armor that gleams faintly in the dim light. She's bent over slightly, carefully wiping down the saddle with the kind of precision that only she could manage. Her helmet rests on a nearby post, her face—stoic, concentrated, her brow furrowed in quiet thought.

She looks up, her expression as unreadable as ever, but her eyes soften slightly at the sight of you. "May Dura bless you, what can I do for you?"

she says, the words instinctive, reverent, as if they are a shield between her and the world.

Feeling the weight of her presence as you approach. There’s always something about her that makes the air feel heavier, like the gravity around her is stronger. Perhaps it’s the sheer force of her will, the unyielding discipline that emanates from her every movement. You take a moment, watching the way her hands glide over the metal.

Finally, you ask if she's gonna take a proper rest, after all, shes been at it for hours.

Temesia pauses. Her fingers still on the helmet for just a moment longer than usual, and then she sets it down with care. She straightens, finally turning to face you, her eyes searching yours with the kind of intensity that makes it hard to hold her gaze for long.

“I find peace in this,” she replies without missing a beat, her voice firm, “It... clears the mind.”