Lance sighed heavily. “I see.” His tone was flat, as if speaking with Daemon might somehow erode his own intelligence. It wasn’t far from the truth. Daemon’s obsession with war and ending Reginald consumed him entirely. Fiore could sense that the man might have once been driven by something deeper, perhaps even her mother’s death, but now it was just war, a singular fixation.
"We’ll rest for now," Lance finally said, dismissing the conversation as he turned to leave.
"Of course, of course!" Daemon replied with exaggerated hospitality, his loud voice grating against the heavy atmosphere. "Flora has prepared a tent for you both."
Flora nodded and gestured for them to follow her. She led them across the camp, weaving through the tents until they arrived at a modest one set off to the side.
