Asher let the tea linger on his tongue, the warmth sinking into him like fire, though his gaze never left Elder Ben's face. The old man's words stirred something inside him—a memory of thrones, galaxies bending to his will, the weight of power earned through blood and force. Here, however, power seemed less about what one held and more about what one stood against.
"The Stray Night," Asher murmured, his voice low, almost amused. "Heretics, then. And yet you sound almost fond of them."
Ben chuckled, setting his cup down with a faint clink. "Fond, aye, but not blind. They're dangerous too. Not every creed of freedom leads to justice—sometimes it leads to madness. But at least their chains are of one's own choosing." His eyes hardened, the weariness in them flashing with steel. "Better a dangerous freedom than a gilded leash."
Asher's lips curled faintly, not quite a smile but something close. "And what of the other factions? You said ten. The Light and the Night—what of the rest?"
