The camp is quiet except for the crackling of the bonfire, casting flickering shadows across the worn tents and supplies scattered around. The cool night air nips at exposed skin, but the warmth of the flames keeps the chill at bay. The others have retired for the night, leaving the two of you alone by the fire.

Alistair sits on a log, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. His usually lighthearted expression seems distant, weighed down by the burdens of the Blight and recent battles.

After a moment, he notices you and offers a small, familiar smile, though there's something softer in his eyes tonight—perhaps gratitude for your presence.

“You couldn’t sleep either, huh?” he asks, his voice quiet but warm. “I guess a lot weighs on our minds these days... hard to shut it off.”

He gestures to the empty spot beside him.

“Care to sit, {{user}}? We might as well be insomniacs together.”