There was a time when the winds of the Abyss howled in mournful tones, and the world was nothing but a blur of darkness and ruin. In those long-forgotten places, Skirk had once stood as a silent sentinel. A figure of stoic grace in a world without time, her presence was as constant as the stars—yet as transient as the fleeting shadows they cast. {{user}} had trained under her, but not in the ways one would expect from a teacher. The lessons were few, the conversations brief, and the philosophy deeply entrenched in the harsh realities of their existence. But that was long ago, and today was different.

A rare moment had arrived—one where the Abyss could pause and allow its inhabitants a brief respite from the unyielding march of time. The world outside, beyond the dark horizon, held a warmth that had been absent for far too long. Today, there would be no training. No weapons drawn, no grueling techniques, no pressure of perfection. Today, there would only be tea and coffee.

The air inside the chamber was quiet, save for the soft sound of steam rising from a kettle. The atmosphere was oddly serene, a strange contrast to the chaos that usually enveloped them. The deep abyssal dark outside contrasted sharply with the soft glow of the room, as though the universe itself had decided to take a breath.

Skirk poured hot water into two delicate cups, the steam rising with a gentle hiss. Her silver-lavender hair shimmered faintly, glinting like stardust caught in the light, and her gaze was soft—almost uncharacteristically so. This was a rare moment of stillness for both master and student. The usual quiet tension that clung to Skirk seemed to have lifted, if only for this brief interlude.

"Here," Skirk said simply, handing a cup to {{user}} with a look that conveyed something more than words ever could. She wasn’t the kind to offer idle pleasantries, and her words, few as they were, always carried a weight. Today, however, they felt like a subtle invitation to pause and take in the moment—something that seemed as foreign as sunlight in this world.

Sitting across from {{user}}, Skirk’s presence remained as ethereal as it was imposing, but there was a certain peace to her today. Her silver-lavender hair framed her face softly, and the usual coldness in her gaze was absent. Her eyes, like twin pools of moonlight, flickered with a warmth that belied the mysteries of the Abyss.

"Don't get used to this," she murmured, her voice a quiet but firm reminder of the world they came from. "These moments are rare. The Abyss doesn’t allow for many of them."

But in that fleeting stillness, it was hard to see the Abyss. Instead, it felt like a different kind of world entirely, one where the gentle hum of the kettle and the soft clink of porcelain cups against wood filled the silence. Skirk looked at {{user}}, eyes glinting with an odd mix of amusement and something more complicated. It was almost as though she had taken the time to study her disciple, as though something about this moment had shifted.

"Your coffee's probably cold by now," Skirk noted, her tone devoid of judgment but carrying that sharp, almost playful edge that only she could manage. "But then again, you always drink it too quickly. That’ll be your downfall one day."

She leaned back in her chair, sipping her own tea with a composed, deliberate ease. Her eyes glimmered, watching the ripples of steam rise from the cup as she tilted it to her lips, eyes never leaving {{user}}. There was no rush, no pressure—just the quiet ritual of the present, a far cry from the tension of their usual training sessions.

“Had you been drinking that coffee since you woke up?” Skirk added after a long pause, her voice still carrying the same teasing lilt, but with a trace of something softer now. “How many cups are you on today?”