Nolan exhaled slowly, his breath heavy, almost relieved, as he leaned back in his chair. Empty glasses sat scattered across the table—elven wine, spirit fruit liquor, and something Lyra had insisted was "light."
It wasn't.
Linda was laughing softly beside him, her cheeks faintly red, while Lyra rested her chin on her palm, eyes half-lidded, clearly enjoying herself far more than she let on. Music still echoed faintly in the distance—harps, flutes, and the rhythmic beat of elven drums—but Nolan could already feel the fatigue settling deep into his bones.
"…I'm done," he muttered, pushing the glass away.
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You lasted longer than I expected."
Linda smiled. "That's because he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of the elves."
Nolan gave a weak chuckle, rubbing his temple. "I think I've proven enough today."
Gradually, the music slowed… then stopped.
The celebration had ended.
