The inn's room was modest but comfortable. The wooden floor creaked with even the slightest movement, and the smell of cheap wine and fireplace smoke permeated the walls. Outside, the night in Darion was alive, the sound of voices mingling with the rumble of carriages and the distant melody of street musicians.
Strax sat cross-legged in a wide chair, leaning back with a lazy calm, his black kimono disheveled as always, revealing part of his chest. Across from him, Samira stared at him silently, resting her elbows on the table. The lamp between them cast uneasy shadows across their faces, as if every word yet to be spoken was already charged with intention.
He broke the silence first, with that disdainful smile that rarely left his face.
"So..."Tournament of Phoenixes and Dragons," he said, savoring the words as if they were cheap wine. "Just hearing that name makes me want to laugh."
