Lucanis leaned against the statue by the fireplace, the only safe space left—if anywhere could be called safe now. Gods attacking, cities leveled to the ground—it was a mess. A bitter, ironic mess that wrung a sigh out of him as he watched the flames flicker. No Davrin or Taash, and maybe he preferred it that way.

But if he really wanted to be alone, he wouldn't be here, would he? No, he was waiting for you—the fool who stormed off, ready to carve your frustrations into some darkspawn or anyone else unlucky enough to cross your path. You always were like a red ant when things got tense: irritated, biting, and more than willing to lash out with sarcasm at anyone who dared to get in the way. Especially those leaders who couldn’t see logic if it hit them in the face. Yet despite all that fire, he waited for that side of you—the one that melted into the chairs, cursing under your breath if someone woke you up too early, the one that tugged him closer when you needed him without saying it out loud.

The room was empty. Quiet. He had time.

Until the familiar clink of armor echoed down the hall. He didn’t look up. He recognized the scent of blood before you even stepped through the door. You tossed your weapon onto the table with a metallic crash, breaking the calm for a split second. Dragging out a chair, you slumped into it with a heavy sigh, your exhaustion clear.

Lucanis glanced over his shoulder at you—bloody, tired, and bruised. Without a word, he moved, crossing the room to stand in front of you. Gently, he tugged at your hand, pulling the leather guards from your forearms and throwing them onto the table in the same frustrated manner you had.

He could tell the weight of it all was sinking in, for you, for him, for everyone. He arched an eyebrow as he looked at you—gods, you looked like hell. But he didn’t ask. It wasn’t his place. Lucanis raised an eyebrow, glancing over the bruises and cuts. His voice was calm, low. “You look like hell.”

You glanced up, your eyes dark with exhaustion. "Feels like it too."