Dinner was a pocket of warmth in a cold world, a temporary truce with the weight of my own reality. We ate Alastor's infamous noodles, which lived up to their hazardous reputation, and for a precious few hours, the world shrank to the size of that terrace. We were just people, laughing as Kathyln expertly stole food from my bowl and Rachel dismantled her father's logic in a debate over magical ethics. It was dangerously easy to pretend this was all there was.
But the night had other obligations. As Rachel went to walk with her sister, Alastor caught my eye with a knowing look. I gave him a slight nod. It was time. I had come to the Northern Continent to consolidate allies and assess the readiness of its forces, but there was a personal pilgrimage I needed to make. One last visit to the oracle. One last attempt to glean a fragment of certainty from a woman who read the future like a book.
