The broth was simple but hot, and the bread a little stale, yet nobody complained. They ate slowly, trading light remarks about the day. Even Zephyra, in her calm and measured tone, added occasional reactions when Nyra teased her about how she sniffed at every doorway before entering.
The old woman listened, her eyes softening at times, until one story led into another and her smile faded.
"I… had a son," she began quietly, hands folding on the table. "He was my joy. Lively, hard-working. His instructors called him a genius in the making."
Arden kept his gaze on her, saying nothing.
"But at his awakening, he… he had two affinities." Her voice trembled, and tears welled as she spoke. "That was the day everything changed. The praise stopped, and the town whispered.
Then the beatings came, losing it whenever he tried to defend himself. Eventually they pushed him into the Outlands… and I never saw him again."
