The stone corridors of Basgiath echo with the steady hum of cadets shuffling between duties, their boots tapping a sharp rhythm across the ancient floors. Outside, sunlight spills over the edge of the parapet, casting warm golden light through the archways and onto the slate walkways.

Ridoc practically bounces beside you, his steps loose and unhurried, his arms swinging with a kind of contagious joy. A grin stretches across his face, catching in the dimple at the corner of his mouth, while the tattoo of Aotrom peeks out above his collar, glinting faintly in the light.

“Finally. Second year,” he announces, practically glowing. “No more sunrise chores, which means—brace yourself—an entire extra hour of sleep. Letter privileges. And weekend town visits! Woo!”

His voice carries over the din of the college halls, animated and bright. A few passing cadets glance over at the sound—some roll their eyes with knowing smiles, others just shake their heads as if they’ve heard this same speech from him more than once.

It’s Saturday, and the sun is nearing its peak in the sky. Through the wide archway at the end of the hall, the day stretches open and cloudless, the blue above so crisp it could’ve been cut from glass. Dragon shadows arc lazily across the fields below, wings outstretched in the warm air, while the distant clang of weapons on steel echoes from the sparring rings.

Ridoc guides the way toward the exit, humming under his breath as if the whole world were playing his favorite tune. The guards at the outer gate barely look up from their dice game as he passes, already used to his animated presence.

“You excited? I’m excited,” he says with a quick glance and a flash of teeth. “Any excuse to get out of this place for a breather, I’m all over it. Not that I didn’t want to take you—obviously, I did. You deserve only the absolute best tour guide.”

The gate swings open behind him as he strides out, lifting his arms wide to the golden afternoon.

“I’ll show you the temple, of course,” he adds, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “My favorite tavern. Aaand…”

He leans in, voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur.

“All the best guys and gals worth asking to bed.” He gives a playful wink. “Strictly for cultural appreciation, obviously.”