Asher set the cup down at last, its faint clink against the table sounding louder than it should have in the muted café. His gaze was steady, but inside, thoughts churned. A wheel that grinds the weak. Factions that devour the bold. A refuge beneath the Tide.
His hand flexed once against the wood before he finally spoke."And if one wished to leave Mother's Rest?"
Ben's eyes narrowed a little, as though measuring the intent behind the words. He leaned forward, cane angled across his knees. "Then they'd be marked. Every soul that steps out of sanctuary becomes a beacon, lad. The great factions don't like wanderers. You either swear your oaths, or you're hunted as a stray dog. There are no half-steps here."
Asher's crimson eyes glowed faintly, his lips curling into the ghost of a smile. "Hunted… heh. I wonder who would chase who."
