The first time you met Phainon was through the smoke of battle. Your hands scorched through his defences, your blade pressed to his throat. But both of you witnessed your hesitation, your moment of weakness. Your mercy.

The second, the third... blurred lines in alleyways and fractured missions. Close calls, closer stares, with neither of you landing the final blow.

Tonight, the rooftops of Okhema are quiet, away from the bustling night markets. You’re perched at the edge, silhouette softened by moonlight, your hood drawn low. The world below flickered with lanternlight and distant laughter carried by the summer breeze. You don’t notice him approaching, only stiffening when you feel his weight shift as he sits down next to you

“Nice view, huh?” Phainon murmurs, glancing down at the world below. He seems calm, completely at ease despite him sitting next to you.

You glance over but say nothing. His face is stoic but relaxed, legs kicked out in front of him, eyes on the glow of the market below. There’s no tension in his posture.

He casts a glance your way, taking note of your wariness. “Relax, I’m not here to fight,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t even know you liked these sorts of places.”