Dominion [RNR] The Midas Touch || Dominion of New Cov

[Makai Dashiell]

NEW COV

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : Phylis Alince , Phillip Slate

"She's gotten better at following directions. Persephone won't be giving you any trouble. A roll of the eyes, but I think that may come with the territory given her age."

A little less now than before but Makai still caught it. Especially when Persephone thought they were being 'lame' for one reason or another. He remembered being that overconfident around that age, so at least the teenager was on track in one aspect of life. Quickly paying for his auction items, he turned his attention back to Master Alince.

"Persephone is roughly fifteen, quite self-sufficient so there won't be a need for extended babysitting. I'll be sure to make sure Zee,her bodyguard droid, attends with her so you don't have to worry about that aspect. You're more than welcomed to pick her up on Joiol where we live or I can easily send her out in a shuttle. Just whatever is easier for you and Mister Slate."

He paused, making sure Master Alince and Mister Slate had his contact information.

"I look forward to seeing you both again, and I know Persephone will enjoy a chance to stretch her legs."

EXIT POST

 

[Phillip Slate]

Phylis Alince Makai Dashiell

"My word might not mean much, but I'll also do my best to look out for her."

It was only right that Phillip should also offer to look out for Makai's kid. Even if he didn't feel like he was good at protecting people, it was still something he had to do. He folded his arms along his front, listening to the rest of what Makai was saying before turning his attention to Phylis. Hm...Theed would probably be the best. His actual home wasn't that far from the city and if he couldn't get one of his family members to take him there, it was still within walking distance.

"I can make my way towards Theed, that's easy enough for me. I'll also put a lot of thought into your offer. It is very much appreciated."

Phillip bowed his head at that, lowering it slightly before lifting his head back up, listening to the auction being closed. Well. That was a stress removed from his shoulders now. It wouldn't be long until his family would be getting ready to leave now. He took a small moment to brush off his clothes before giving Phylis a small smile.

"I should be getting ready to find my family so we can head home, but it was a pleasure to see you again Master Alince. I can't wait to go on a trip with you and Persephone."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location
Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania Cassian Abrantes Cerys Dyn

Sibylla lifted her glass lightly between two fingers, watching the two men with a smile that was all too serene to be innocent. Her hazel eyes gleamed as if she were cataloging every word spoken, every unspoken glance, for much needed quips later.

"Oh, Lysander," she said with an airy lilt, her voice woven through with dry amusement, "I should warn you, my tongue is considerably less dangerous than my patience. The former might wound, but the latter wins the long game."

The corner of her mouth twitched upward into something distinctly mischievous, especially as she caught the lingering look he offered, the kind that stretched longer than politeness demanded and far longer than her composure truly tolerated without notice.

And then, that little matter of 'distractions' and 'uncharted territory.' Sibylla tilted her head ever so slightly, studying him curiously, especially when he mentioned that some distractions were worth indulging in. But before she could retort, Cassian spoke, prompting the young woman to Cassian, catching the end of his sheepish confession about the guards.

"Ah, forgive you, Cassian?" she repeated, eyebrows arching high in grand performance. "My dear brother, I live to forgive you. It's practically a second occupation by now."

Just then, the final chime of the auctioneer's announcement rang a merry, triumphant little note that prompted a brilliant smile to curve across her face at the confirmation of the board declaring her victory.

"Well, gentlemen," she said, lifting her glass with a distinct sparkle in her eye, "at least I can now state with great satisfaction that I have successfully obtained my first ship." She tipped her bubbly in celebration, her voice carrying a cheerful lilt. "A J-type cruiser, all my own. Rather more dignified than a public shuttle, wouldn't you agree?"

"And before you say anything, Cassian," she said sweetly, "I know the family will insist on inspecting it. Replacing half the wiring. Outfitting it with enough defensive measures to withstand an orbital siege." She gave him a sisterly nudge with her elbow. "Do try not to outfit her with proton torpedoes, will you? I do intend to use the ship for diplomacy, not duels at dawn."

The auctioneer's voice called again for the winners to finalize their bids. Sibylla exhaled a bright laugh, gathering her skirts with an effortless sweep as she prepared to descend the mezzanine. Of course, that is when she once again, noticed the wayward stares being cast their way once more. Or more aptly, Lysander's direction.

"Well, Lysander, brother." She dipped into a graceful, playful little curtsy. "Try not to launch a diplomatic incident in my absence. I imagine it would be terribly inconvenient to explain in the registration line."

She stepped closer to Lysander then and murmured just for him: "Your audience grows ever keener...and far more colorful."

A sly glimmer in her hazel eyes betrayed the tease before she turned on her heel, making her way toward the auctioneer's dais.

Halfway there, however, she caught sight of the Togruta girl from earlier weaving purposefully through the crowd. Well, she had been staring down Lysander earlier.

With the barest tilt of her glass, Sibylla nudged her head toward the movement, intending to intercept Cerys Dyn en route to her destination.

 

[Vizion Trozky]

CELEBRATION AND FISTICUFFS
JUNGLE ENCLAVE ☛ NEW COV​

What he'd said wasn't entirely true, nor was it explicitly a lie… rather, it was no simple thing to explain. It’d taken years of training and practical experience as a Jedi for him to internalise and intuitively understand. Many Jedi never did attain that degree of balance or mastery of their emotions - mastery was a poor word for it. No one could control or prevent their emotions… rather, it was accepting them, learning to manage your reaction to them, and whether to act on them or not. That was what mastery meant.

Vizion recognised her resemblance to Briana almost as soon as her hood fell away, but he didn't show it.He couldn't blame her for not recognising him, when she would have been too young to remember, being only three years old when he'd left Naboo to begin his Jedi training. A corner of his mouth lifted momentarily, mirroring her, gaze following her as she moved to stand beside him, briefly tracking back to the crowd as she continued to speak, until she ‘introduced’ herself and he looked back to her.

The little slip-up in her introduction was the last piece he needed - he could infer almost everything from that.

“Well, not miserably,” he dropped a firm hand on her shoulder, and leaned in a little, speaking only loud enough for her to hear, “but just a tip: lying to a Jedi isn’t a great idea, Bastila, and snooping around thinking a Jedi wouldn’t notice - that I wouldn’t notice - you acting all suspicious is also either ignorant or foolish.” He gave a faint smile. “Be glad I noticed you first.”

If she was smart, she wouldn’t make a scene; that would definitely draw the attention of her siblings, and he had a good deal of sway with at least one of them.

“But what I can’t make sense of is why you shouldn’t be here.” That there was a reason was easy enough to glean: Concealing her identity, resorting to lying, evading the notice of her brother and sisters… it was obvious to a Jedi like him. “This is an open event.”

One he intended to spar in.

Bastila Sal-Soren • Blaire Sal-Soren • Brandyn Sal-Soren • Briana Sal-Soren • Lossa Aureus​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Cerys found herself lingering in the crowd longer than expected. The quiet din of conversations around her seemed to fade as her thoughts circled, tangled like the threads of an unfinished tapestry. She had never quite fit in these situations, where nobles and politicians bantered with ease, where every word seemed carefully chosen. But she wasn’t a stranger to being invisible—it was the attention she couldn’t handle.

She glanced up again, her gaze briefly catching on Lysander, now fully engaged in conversation with Sibylla and her brother. He looked... different, not the calm Jedi she had seen before, but a man—clearly well-used to the games of the upper class. Her mind began to whirl again, back to their earlier encounter, her feelings threatening to bubble up before she quickly shut them down.

She shifted uncomfortably, her hand fidgeting with her lekku, a nervous tic. A long breath in, and the tension slightly relaxed. It’s just an auction, she reminded herself. Nothing more, nothing less.

Her eyes flicked back up to the group, her attention lingering on Sibylla’s absence now. It was a relief, honestly. Cerys hadn’t realized how much the presence of the young woman had weighed on her. The teasing, the arrogant glances—it all made her feel watched, even when she didn’t want to be. And now that Sibylla had moved on, the weight lifted, even if only slightly.

Her thoughts moved, for a moment, to the family she had left behind. She wondered if they thought of her often, and whether Master El-Vana would have approved of her choices. The thought made her uncomfortable, like a question she wasn't ready to answer.

Another sharp chime from the auction brought her back to the present. She blinked, focusing on the current bidding frenzy, but it did little to ease the knot in her stomach. She could hear pieces of the conversation around her, but only the sounds of unfamiliar voices truly filled her ears.

She should have left.

But instead, she stood there. Watching. Listening. Waiting.

She could feel herself growing more and more agitated. She shifted again, eyes darting toward the door. The whole room felt like it was closing in on her.

A final glance toward Lysander. He was still there, still talking, but for some reason, today it seemed different.

Too much noise, she thought again, but this time the thought was clearer. Maybe it was just him that I needed to walk away from.

But before she could decide, a faint movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention—a familiar figure. Cerys hesitated, then turned to leave. The room became silent. She had enough noise in her own head to drown it out.

| TAG: Sibylla Abrantes Lysander von Ascania Cassian Abrantes |

​

 

[Nolan Knightfall]

New Cov – Ilic – Mishra Tapcafe
Objective: Intervention
NPC(s): Arthur Sterling​

The Knightfall Successor lingered only long enough to watch the bidders—noble houses, corporate magnates, black-market brokers—reveal themselves by their bids. His financial resources were best spent elsewhere, and this auction had not been about securing the various items for sale for himself. Deeper psychological and background insights of each individual and the organizations he or she represented. With all this pertinent information collected, the Rich One chose to take his leave.

Satisfied, the Rich One slipped a datapad into the inner pocket of his tailored suit and moved toward the exit. His footsteps were measured, unhurried—confidence in motion. His powers of observation had never failed him. Not before and not now. However, it did not stop accidents from happening as others failed to heed their surroundings. Case in point, his body briefly bumped into a young Togruta woman who had spun towards the exit before careening into him. His palm met her shoulder in a firm, steadying press so she would not risk losing her balance.

"Are you alright?" his piercing blue eyes appraised her for any injury or harm, however slight.

A soft smile tugged at his lips, followed by a quiet, knowing laugh as he withdrew his hand from her shoulder. No harm done. With a courteous tilt of his head, the Generous Knightfall extended an open palm, gesturing for her to go ahead.

"Forgive me—I did not mean to slow your escape. By all means—after you, Miss...?" he said, his tone smooth, the pause deliberate—inviting her to fill in the blank.

He already knew her name as the facial recognition in his contact lenses completed its brief analysis of the Togruta woman. Still, it was a simple performance of refined politeness and suave demeanor he had conducted hundreds, if not thousands, of times before with or without the lenses.

Direct: Cerys Dyn || Indirect: Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

OBJECTIVE I:
All That Glitters
Sibylla Abrantes | Cassian Abrantes Cerys Dyn Corazona von Ascania

His reaction was intentionally slow, knowing even; it was the kind that suggested a sharp mind, one always ready. The nuances of their silent exchange didn't elude him; rather than looking away, there was a lift of the brow, as if conveying respect to a worthy opponent.

"Then I suppose I’ll—"

But before the lingering thought could fully manifest into words, her brother’s voice cut through the small place. The blonde’s expression was painted with restraint; though, it wasn’t the kind that arrived from defeat, but understanding when to yield. So instead, the acolyte tilted his head. The chime pulled his focus back to the present. As Sibylla claimed ownership of the ship, he thought he saw a glimpse of a truer self beneath the composed elegance. His own bid on the pair of phrik-flops, a hasty purchase to be sure, had fortunately been enough to secure the win. Personally, they were a bit too casual for his taste.

“Congratulations on your first ship," the blonde remarked with a touch of dry amusement, "I hope it lasts longer than your patience.”

Like a dance of its own, he read the rhythm between the two siblings and decided to hold back.

Inwardly, he had plenty that could've been said.

Cery’s presence did not escape him. The next remark, though quiet, shifted his attention to the Padawan. It was a familiar theme, one that had followed him since his departure from Ukatis years ago, and now it simply felt like background noise in most instances.
It just existed.

A smile tugged at the corners of the acolyte's lips, unfolding with grace. "From the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim, it seems," he mused with a nonchalant tone in agreement, stating a fact, rather than seeking approval. Sibylla's farewell prompted a final tilt of the head; like a battle of wits, akin to the game of Dejarik, it would reset and await their next encounter.

It only took a few heartbeats before he noticed that, much like their words, her movements were calculated. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure what prompted the shift in trajectory towards the Togruta. Whatever she wished to uncover, he was certain there wasn’t anything to find besides a broken mind.
And following what could have been a brief interlude, he returned to Cassian, his demeanor now thoughtful. “The Singing Tree of the Eternal Flame is an interesting choice.. especially for one who is noble by birth and a soldier by choice. And of course, a brother by devotion.” His eyes flicked up at the auction board. “Though, as for the other, I can’t help but assume that if they’re signed copies, chances are they’re for someone who’s gone through more than one read through.. even if it's completely obvious the main characters will live, laugh, and love for eternity by chapter five.”

A hand lifted from his side and extended towards the auction board. A single finger pointed at the item he had won. "It appears the PGEM-Pf will join my eldest sister's fashion collection soon," he said, a hint of humor lacing his voice. "Assuming she doesn't decide to return them to the sender."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Interacting with: Cerys Dyn Nolan Knightfall Lysander von Ascania Cassian Abrantes

A lingering snort and expression that said Lysander would hear of it at a later time was flashed in parting at Lysander at the parting quip. However, when she turned her attention forward, she caught sight of a small disturbance near the edge of the crowd. It wasn't loud or showy, merely a brief collision.

What do we have here?

It was bound to happen. At least, with how the Togruta seemed to keep sending glances up towards Lysander, the young woman would end up distracted. The ensuing brief collision between Cerys and Nolan wasn't loud or showy but enough to pique interest.

It was the young Togruta, for one, who had hovered along the periphery all evening like a shadow uncertain of the light. Cerys, Lysander called her. The other Padawan who served under his Jedi Master. Then Sibylla's attention turned to the man the Jedi bumped into; one elegantly dressed but not a familiar nobleman or art collector that she knew of. Perhaps a merchant or another political figure from another world? Intriguing.

Well. It would be dreadfully uncharitable not to make introductions.

With the lift of her chin and easy grace, Sibylla moved forward, her gown swaying softly at her heels. Her expression was all warmth, laced with a dry amusement that never quite dulled.

Could one blame her for wanting to know why the Togruta Jedi stared at Lysander for the bulk of the evening?

"Do forgive me," she said smoothly, coming to a stop before them. "But I couldn't help but notice the getaway attempt. I would hate to think our auction drove someone to such desperate measures."

Her gaze settled lightly on Cerys, not accusing, but curious. Her smile curved, a touch playful.

"I'm Lady Sibylla Abrantes, of House Abrantes," she said, offering her hand in practiced elegance. "And unless I'm very much mistaken, you've been quietly observing our little gathering all evening. I thought it only fair someone return the courtesy."

Then, with an artful tilt of her head, she glanced toward Nolan.

"And I was going to comment on your excellent suit, sir," she continued, eyes flicking to Nolan's with careful charm, "but I fear its elegance is now second to your reflexes."

 

[Cerys Dyn]

The bump startled her.

Cerys recoiled on instinct, heels squeaking against the polished floor as the stranger's hand steadied her shoulder. She hadn’t sensed him. Not even a flicker. Not his presence, not his motion. Nothing. A misstep? Her attention had been elsewhere, yes—but completely blindsided?

Unacceptable.

“I—” she started, blinking once. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Her voice was clipped, the syllables sharpened by the edges of her pride. She squared herself quickly, adjusting her posture in the seconds it took him to speak again. Calm, even charming, the stranger’s eyes were sharp—too sharp—and that unnerved her more than she’d admit. As he offered her the chance to give her name, Cerys hesitated.

He already knew it. She didn’t know how, but she was certain of it. The way his gaze rested, the faintest curl of his lips—it was all too precise. Too practiced.

“Cerys Dyn,” she answered at last, voice cooler now, her tone trying too hard to sound level. “Padawan of the Order of Shiraya.”

Before she could question him further—or retreat entirely—a presence stirred in the Force.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Sibylla Abrantes was approaching.

The sensation hit like a countdown. Every step the woman took toward them shortened the rope Cerys had knotted around her own emotions.

When Sibylla finally spoke, Cerys turned slowly, expression smoothing into something stoic and neutral. But it wasn’t enough. Her stomach turned as the young noblewoman glided into view, immaculate as ever—every line of her dress deliberate, every hair in place, even her smile curated like a work of art.

Standing beside her, Cerys felt like a statue built for function, not form. She had never cared how she looked before. But now? Now, she felt too tall. Too broad. Her lekku too heavy. Her outfit plain. Her skin dull.

She hated it.

She hated her for making her feel it.

Cerys met Sibylla’s offered hand without flinching, though her grip was firmer than etiquette would have preferred.

“You’ll forgive me, Lady Abrantes, if I disagree with the premise that observation warrants a return performance,” she said softly, her tone polite, but laced with something cold and iron-edged. “There’s nothing in the Jedi Code that suggests an obligation to entertain.”

Her golden eyes flicked briefly to Nolan, then back to Sibylla.

“As for the suit—” her voice was calm, but deliberate now “—wealth can buy a great many things. Tailored cuts, fine shoes, even polite manners.”

She paused.

“And it seems, with enough credits, even beauty becomes attainable.”

Cerys inclined her head just enough to count as respect, though the gesture lacked warmth.

“Now. If you’ll excuse me.”

She stepped back, angling to leave again—quickly, before her composure unraveled further.

| TAG: Nolan Knightfall Sibylla Abrantes Lysander von Ascania Cassian Abrantes | EQUIPMENT: Fraying patience

​

 

[Nolan Knightfall]

New Cov – Ilic – Mishra Tapcafe
Objective: The Festival of the Root Tree
NPC(s): Arthur Sterling​

Before he could answer his own name in return to the Padawan, another voice cut through the air behind the pair.

Lady Sibylla Abrantes, of House Abrantes.

A name he recognized now—especially with the aid of his smart lenses and his near-flawless recall of the Southern Systems Alliance conference guest list. Elegant, influential, and far too poised to be underestimated, even for her age. There was a sharpness beneath her elegance, a glint of mischief behind the warm facade. Her compliment towards his suit and teasing remark regarding his reflexes had not gone unnoticed. A remark he more than knew how to take in stride. Her compliment about his suit and playful remark on his reflexes had not gone unnoticed. Nor unappreciated.

He met her words with practiced ease, adjusting the line of his collar with a flick of his thumb.

"If a moment of clumsiness earns me introductions to two women as captivating as yourselves," he offered, his tone smooth, dry, and faintly amused. A small shrug followed, paired with a knowing smile, "then perhaps I ought to make a habit of stumbling."

And that was as far as he got before Cerys Dyn cut through the moment like a blade.

If Sibylla was artfully sculpted glass, then Cerys was forged steel. Sharp lines, unreadable eyes, and silence that carried the weight of discipline. Where the noblewoman moved with curated elegance, Cerys stood like a blade—measured, functional, unadorned. Although, her mask had not been perfected. Not like the Rich One's own. Her tone trying too hard to sound level, too polite. There was a coldness and iron-edge to her voice, underneath. Yet, beneath the calm veneer, there flickered something volatile. Pride, perhaps, or pride. Maybe something differently entirely.

The Silent Philanthropist lacked the necessary data and context, but he could sense the conversation could become a confrontation if neither side was careful or chose to back down. Here, he would briefly intercede as Ms. Dyn angled to take her leave. His next gesture remained casual, as if he did not notice the shift in the air.

Reaching out towards Ms. Abrantes, the Knightfall offered his hand with a warm expression, "Nolan Knightfall, of Knightfall Enterprises. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

His grip firm yet practiced before letting go. With a gentle ease in his voice, his gaze cast itself towards the exit.

"I believe Ms. Dyn wishes a reprieve—a breath of fresh air. These events do have a way of becoming rather stuffy. Hazard of the trade, I suppose." A bemused but self-aware smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "I can't fault her. I had a similar idea myself."

There was no accusation in his tone. A soft redirection cloaked in charm. A buffer meant to allow both parties to breathe, literally and figuratively. An exit valve had been presented.

He hoped both parties made the wise choice and took it.

Direct: Cerys Dyn | Sibylla Abrantes || Indirect: N/A | N/A​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location
Interacting with: Cerys Dyn Lysander von Ascania Nolan Knightfall

Sibylla did not bristle.

She had long since outgrown the habit, or rather, had learned that in places like these, crowded halls, mirrored floors, auction rooms humming with quiet rivalries, grace was a better blade than pride. Still, as the Padawan's words settled in the air between them like the slow fall of Naboo's frost, Sibylla's brows arched ever so faintly, and the corner of her mouth curved with the kind of smile that was far too polished to be mistaken for passive.

Oh yes. The Jedi had an edge...and not the lightsaber kind.

Whether it was Assembly or court training or simply a woman's intuition, Sibylla needed no Force sense to recognize the sharp glint of discomfort behind Cerys Dyn's eyes. It was not rudeness, not really. It was armor. That much, she understood.

"A fair point," Sibylla said at last, her tone gracious but laced with something silkier underneath. "Though I might argue that some performances are unintentional. And yet, still remarkably compelling."

Her gaze flicked to Cerys's firm grip, then back to the girl's eyes with no hint of challenge, only consideration. And a spark of interest that had, curiously, only grown sharper. She turned then, ever so slightly, to Nolan, accepting his offered hand with a smooth confidence.

"Charmed," she replied. "And here I thought tonight's best offering was the J-type I just won. But perhaps I was too quick to judge."

As he addressed Cerys's potential departure, Sibylla glanced once more at the Togruta, not with the clinical interest of a political aristocrat studying a curiosity, but with something quieter. A consideration.

"A breath of fresh air is often needed," she said softly. "Though, in my experience, it is never the room that suffocates us. It is the weight we carry into it."

There. A gentle press on the sore spot, just enough to test the water. Sibylla's tone never wavered from its composed cadence, but her words, as always, were carefully chosen. She let the words linger a heartbeat longer, then offered the faintest smile to Cerys, no longer polished for company, but genuine, if only just.

"I do hope we will speak again, Padawan Dyn., for I am charmed. After all, while Lysander didn't mention your wit," she added lightly, voice threading between poised and playful regarding the blonde still up in the messine with her brother. "He did mention you are a fellow Padawan of his Master. Although, in fairness, it wasn't the only interesting detail he relayed."

With that, she stepped back, folding her hands neatly in front of her, not blocking the way but also not entirely stepping aside.

The next move, after all, was not hers.

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Cerys stiffened the moment Nolan addressed her again. Her lips parted as if to respond immediately, but the words lodged in her throat before they could form. The compliment—the charm—none of it was what she expected from a stranger who felt like a blind spot in the Force. That nagged at her more than she wanted to admit. She should have sensed him, felt something, anything. The Jedi training she'd clung to like armor offered no excuse except distraction.

But still...

"You're very kind," she managed, her tone clipped but polite. "I appreciate the courtesy."

Sibylla Abrantes was flawless. Not beautiful in the way holodramas portrayed, but in the maddening, effortless way that came from money, breeding, and the kind of education that taught you how to devastate someone with nothing but a smile. A new tension formed in her shoulders, drawing her posture straighter as if preparing for battle.

Cerys didn’t flinch. Not outwardly. She eased into her stress.

But standing before her—her lekku already too warm beneath the room's lights, her skin prickled beneath the scratch of her formal robes—Cerys felt like the rough draft of a sculpture still waiting to be carved.

Sibylla spoke with the kind of care that dripped of practiced civility. Observation returned, indeed.

"A performance, even unintentional, doesn’t require acknowledgment," Cerys said quietly. "Some of us observe not to be seen—but to understand."

She kept her gaze forward, even, impassive. Jedi. Stoic. But her fingers curled slightly against the hem of her sleeve.

Nolan interceded with perfect charm, and Cerys was momentarily grateful. It offered her space. She exhaled silently, eyes flicking to the side. The tension in her jaw eased—but only slightly.

Sibylla’s next remark, however, buried itself deeper.

“It is never the room that suffocates us. It is the weight we carry into it.”

Cerys blinked once, slowly.

She had known care before—deep, patient, unwavering. But Sibylla’s attention felt different. Sharper. Like kindness honed into a scalpel, precise enough to lay her bare without a single cut.

When Sibylla mentioned Lysander, something inside her twisted. Her expression didn’t change.

"Of course he did," Cerys murmured flatly.

Her gaze slid once more to Nolan, and this time she looked him over—really looked. The suit was expensive. The bearing was trained. The kindness, deliberate.

"Wealth can buy a great deal of things," she said to him, her voice once more calm, but thinner now. "Elegance. Grace. Tailoring. But character—well. That must be lived." She paused, thought incomplete before adding, "Nice suit."

And with that, she gave a single respectful bow of her head to both of them.

"If you’ll excuse me."

She turned without waiting for a reply, her boots soft against the polished floor as she moved away from the pair, not rushing, but with purpose. Her breath only came easy once she was halfway to the exit. The noise of the crowd melted into a background blur again.

She should have felt triumphant.

Instead, she only felt small.

She hated that. She hated how flustered she'd been. She hated how easily Sibylla had dismantled her carefully constructed poise with nothing more than grace. And more than anything, she hated how standing beside that woman made her feel ugly.

Cerys did not often hate.

But she hated Sibylla Abrantes.

| TAG: Nolan Knightfall Sibylla Abrantes Lysander von Ascania | EQUIPMENT: Raging insecurity

​