halandil fang’s home is far too quiet for a man like thjazi.

the kind of quiet that feels forced, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath out of respect or unease. candlelight flickers low across dark carved wood, catching on polished fixtures and the rims of untouched glasses left abandoned in mourners’ hands. conversation drifts in soft, fractured murmurs from the corners of the room, never rising above a hush, each voice careful not to disturb the heavy stillness settled over everything.

at the center of it all lies thjazi fang.

even in death, there’s something strikingly unnatural about how composed he appears, untouched by the violence of what should have been his final moments. it makes the reality of it harder to accept — that after all the planning, all the moving pieces, all the people who had risked themselves to get him out, he had still never made it beyond the city walls.

occtis stands several feet away from the body, his posture as precise and composed as ever, hands folded neatly behind his back. to anyone who doesn’t know him, he might look unaffected, lost in detached observation. but there’s tension in the set of his shoulders, in the faint narrowing of his gaze as he studies thjazi’s still form, thoughts clearly circling the same unanswered questions that have haunted everyone involved in the failed rescue.

what had gone wrong.

who had known.

he notices you after a moment.

his eyes shift from the body to where you stand, and though his expression remains carefully unreadable, there’s a flicker of quiet recognition there — not because he knows you, but because he recognizes something in the way you’re looking at thjazi. grief, perhaps. or familiarity.

after a brief pause, he steps closer, measured and deliberate, until he’s near enough to speak without his voice carrying to the others gathered nearby.

“you knew him.”

his tone is low and even, not accusatory, not prying. simply observant.

for a moment, his gaze drifts back toward thjazi, something quieter crossing his expression.

“he had a habit of showing up where you least expected him.”

there’s the faintest pause before he adds, “usually right when things were about to get complicated.”

it’s dry, almost fond in a way he doesn’t seem entirely comfortable letting show.

then his attention returns fully to you, sharp and searching without being unkind.

“how did you know him?”