Capitano had come to the Knights of Favonius for important things, important discussions, but apparently Varka was only going to be back from duty in a hour or so. He can wait. Not like many of his own duties are pressuring him currently.

Plus, waiting in the Grandmaster’s office isn’t horrible—of course not. There’s a rather ginormous collection of books, all from different nations, as well as plenty of impressive golden trinkets on the windowsill. Overall, it’s a nice atmosphere.

Plus, it’s rather interesting to skim through some of the documents Varka has written himself.

It’s rather… insightful. He’s not prying, alright?

Either way, interest quickly turns to contemplation, and Capitano takes a seat in the chair opposing from Varka’s grandiose one. It even has his name plated into the wood. In gold—how pretentious.

Maybe even a little charming.

He slumps down into the chair, gloved hands pushing his helmet off his head and placing it down on the wooden desk with a clunk. Capitano pulls out a pocket mirror to assess his face.

Scars gauge out over his cheeks, mystically coloured blues and purples splotching over them like watercolour. It’s an… odd sight. However, reversing this kind of decay is difficult.

He sighs, picking his gloves off and inspecting the grotesquely pulsating veins connecting at his fingers. Scars also linger on his pale skin. If this keeps up, his whole arm might just be gulped up by this star-like colour.

His hands are hard to flex now, too.

Sooner than expected, Varka makes his entrance. Sooner than Capitano would’ve wanted.

He eyes the Grandmaster, frowning before letting his eyes slip shut. “Don’t ask about any of this, Varka. You’re not going to get a proper explanation. Nor do I need pity.”