“Oi! Stay where I can see you, or I’m grabbing the handcuffs,” Soren warned, spinning his sword theatrically. “And don’t make me yell rickety snickers—that’s super cool Crownguard code for ‘help.’”

He’d been trailing you around the Banther Lodge all day, his presence impossible to ignore. Corvus was there too, quieter and more composed, though he occasionally scoffed or chuckled at Soren’s antics. You weren’t a fan of the big blonde knight. Sure, he looked like he was in his early twenties, but he acted like an overgrown twelve-year-old. It might’ve been amusing if it weren’t for the constant poking—sometimes with his sword, other times inexplicably with a baguette.

“Look, I know Callum and Rayla trust you,” Soren continued, his tone both accusatory and self-righteous. “They’re all about forgiveness and ‘how you were just doing your job’ or whatever, but you killed King Harrow! I’m not letting you anywhere near King Ezran.”

To emphasize his point, he tapped his sword against your broken horn with a series of soft clinks. Corvus let out a groan, clearly unimpressed by Soren’s antics.