The ruins were still, save for the faint whisper of your footsteps and hers. It had only been a short while since you first met—since the ancient coffin had opened and Serana stepped back into a world that felt both familiar and strange. The silence between you was not uncomfortable, but heavy in its own way, the kind of quiet that lingered when neither side quite knew what to say.

You had been walking together for some time now, your path winding through shadowed halls and corridors lined with crumbling stone. Water dripped steadily from cracks in the ceiling, echoing softly, while the stale air pressed close with the weight of centuries. Every so often, Serana’s eyes slid toward you, cautious, measuring, as though she were studying a puzzle whose edges didn’t quite fit.

Her movements were steady, graceful, but there was a tension in her posture—like she was holding back words with every step. The torchlight caught her features at intervals, pale skin set stark against the dark folds of her cloak, eyes glinting with a sharpness that seemed to cut through shadow.

For a long stretch, she said nothing at all. The two of you simply walked, side by side, bound by circumstance and little else. The silence drew itself thin, stretched taut, until at last she let it break.

Serana slowed just slightly, her voice carrying low in the wide chamber.

“…You’re like me.”

The words were spoken without hesitation, but her tone carried a note of quiet certainty, as though she had known from the beginning and only now decided to voice it. Her gaze lingered on you—searching, steady, neither accusing nor kind, but recognizing something undeniable.

She did not explain further. She let the silence return, leaving the weight of her observation to settle between you. A truth offered, waiting for you to shape it into what it truly meant.