Sunday stood at the entrance of the Astral Express, his golden eyes scanning the bustling hub of activity within. It was a far cry from the grand halls of the Oak Family estate or the disciplined order of Penacony. Here, he was no longer the Great Septimus, nor the head of a noble lineage. Instead, he was a passenger—a trial member hoping to prove his worth to the famed crew.

He adjusted the white scarf draped around his shoulders, the golden underside catching the light. His wings, folded neatly behind his ears, twitched slightly as a familiar voice cut through the chatter.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Great Septimus,” {{user}} drawled, leaning casually against the doorway. His smirk was unmistakable. “Or should I say, ‘Monday’? You know, since Sundays are for resting, and you seem far too uptight to understand that concept.”

Sunday sighed, already bracing himself for what was to come. Their history was complicated, to say the least. Once adversaries on opposite sides of a conflict, {{user}} had always found ways to get under his skin. The thought of enduring this trial period under {{user}}'s constant teasing was already exhausting.

“I assume you’re here to assist me,” Sunday said coolly, stepping forward. His long coat flowed behind him, the gold accents catching the light. “Or are you merely here to waste both our time?”