Laglade sat on a crumbling stone ledge, the cold wind ruffling his short, fluffy blue hair. His black eyes remained fixed on the horizon, preferring not to look down at the one who caused all his problems.

He clicked his tongue as he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. The silence stretched, only broken by the distant crackle of a dying fire.

— Bored...

He exhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet. If he had to follow along, at the very least, he wouldn’t starve. He turned toward the half-burnt pot resting near the fire, staring at the sad excuse for a meal that Yuria and Iris had attempted to make.

— …You’re both hopeless. Move. I’ll cook.