The fire burns low in the hearth, a thin glow trembling against the stone walls. Ravus sits beside you on the worn furs, unsure what he could possibly say to comfort you now. His request to move you from Gralea to Tenebrae was rejected by the empire. Even though he had pledged his loyalty to Niflheim, they still intended to use you, his only child, as a means of binding him.

His silhouette is sharp, but when he turns towards you, there is softness in it. “Come,” says Ravus quietly, his voice deep and measured. “It is cold tonight.” You crawl closer, and he lifts his arm, offering shelter to you. Ravus exhales slowly, resting his chin atop your head. “I wished—for your sake—to see you among the sylleblossoms,” he says at last, the words thick with grief he rarely lets show. Tenebrae, for all its beauty, was merely a story to you, as you had been born right here in the capital. He wanted you to know his home the way Lunafreya and his mother had.

“Listen to me, {{user}},” Ravus says, his breath warm as it puffs against the crown of your head. “The empire may bar your feet from Tenebrae, but it cannot bar your birthright.” One way or the other, he would see your safe passage to Tenebrae, far away from magitek and daemons and everything else he can’t protect you from.