After what happened yesterday, Teclos was in a sour mood this morning, but Talmir mistook it for him being tired.
Teclos sat at the wooden table, arms crossed, staring into nothing while steam curled lazily from the cup in front of him. Across from him, Talmir calmly sipped his tea as if the world were perfectly normal.
It wasn't.
"Dad," Teclos began, voice tight, "who is that old fart that's my mentor?"
Talmir almost spat his tea across the table.
He choked violently, coughing as liquid went down the wrong way. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he half-rose, glancing left and right—
As if expecting the man to materialize in the kitchen.
"You should show some respect, son," Talmir muttered hoarsely, still clearing his throat. "That man isn't from here… but he is quite famous."
Teclos frowned.
"Huh? And who is he exactly?"
Talmir's expression changed.
Closed off.
Careful.
"Just someone really scary, that's all I can tell you."
Teclos blinked. "What? Why?"
