Sword of Shiraya
Lorn listened intently as Michael spoke, his expression softening with each word. He heard the unspoken anxieties, the barely contained grief, and the underlying desire to live up to expectations. He understood that pressure.
As Michael trailed off, Lorn clapped him on the shoulder, a genuine smile gracing his features. "Alright, enough moping around." He casually swung an arm around Michael's neck, steering him towards the training room door. "The lesson is over for the day anyways."
He guided Michael through the doorway. "Don't feel like you have to shoulder it all alone, okay? We've all been there, in one way or another."
He released Michael from the casual hold, letting his arm fall back to his side. "And hey," Lorn added, his voice lighter, a playful glint in his eyes, "if you ever need to vent, or just someone to listen, I'm here. We can talk it out, meditate... or, if you're really feeling destructive, we can just throw more knives at each other until we're both too tired to think." He chuckled, a genuine sound that echoed in the hallway. "The point is, Michael, you're not alone. We're a family here. And families look out for each other."
