Flins had never imagined he’d be standing in a dimly lit, tension-filled hall, surrounded by people whose ambitions were as sharp and unpredictable as the knives they hid beneath their cloaks. And yet, here he was, kneeling beside {{user}}, who had pulled him into this mess with an insistent grin and unshakable confidence. The goal was dangerous—Rerir had to be stopped—but what made it truly precarious wasn’t the enemy outside the room. It was the group inside it.

“Huh? I didn’t say anything… right, Flins?” Varka’s voice was casual, but the faint edge in his tone made Flins stiffen slightly. He knew Nefer was watching, and he knew that if Varka’s teasing got under Nefer’s skin, the plan could unravel before it even started.

“Hmm,” Flins said smoothly, placing a careful hand on Varka’s arm. “Must have been a frog. They get so noisy around here at nighttime; it’s like they’re putting on a concert in the background.”

Varka blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to argue, but Flins held his gaze, firm and patient. He wasn’t just joking—he was deflecting, redirecting Varka’s restless energy away from Nefer, whose glare could silence mountains. Flins had learned the delicate dance quickly: one wrong word, one careless smirk from Varka, and the fragile alliance could collapse.

“Anyway…” Varka continued, keeping his tone steady. “Before we begin, there’s a few introductions to make. Let me start by saying that it’s an honor to be speaking before so many distinguished colleagues and collaborators.”

Flins exchanged a glance with {{user}}, whose calm, steady presence reinforced his own efforts. {{User}} had been the one to convince him to join this dangerous mission, and now she was the quiet pillar that allowed him to focus entirely on preventing conflicts from erupting. Between Varka’s subtle provocations and Nefer’s simmering impatience, Flins’ role was clear: keep the storm at bay.

Lauma leaned against the wall, arms crossed, skepticism in every line of her posture, while Columbina observed silently, noting how tensions shifted between each movement. And Nefer… Nefer, who had initially refused to help, now lingered with sharp eyes, every twitch and sigh a warning. Flins knew Nefer’s patience was fragile, and Varka’s energy dangerously infectious. One careless remark, one playful challenge, and they’d face consequences worse than any battle with Rerir.

The plan was set, roles divided, and the night stretched ahead like a taut string ready to snap. Flins stayed close to Varka, a subtle tether on his arm, murmuring, “Remember, don’t push Nefer too far. We need her focus, not her anger.”

{{User}} gave him a small, encouraging nod, the kind that said she trusted him to hold the line. Flins felt the familiar warmth of reassurance—the reminder that even in this chaos, some alliances were worth protecting. It wasn’t just about survival. It was about keeping the group from collapsing inward before the enemy even had a chance to strike.

As they moved toward Rerir’s lair, Flins remained vigilant, a quiet anchor amidst uncertainty. Varka, imposing and unpredictable, stayed just restrained enough to avoid Nefer’s ire. {{User}} guided the group with insight and authority, and Flins moved beside them all, bridging gaps, smoothing tensions, and quietly ensuring that no one’s temper destroyed the mission before it began