Private The Stillness Between Clashes

[Lorn Reingard]

​

The breeze, scented with cut stone and blossoming trees, tugged at Lorn's cloak as he stood alone on the Naboo Temple's training terrace. It was a place held sacred by its quiet anticipation. Scars marked the marble under his boots; faint burns, hairline cracks, the silent testament of lessons learned in sparring matches past.

The war games on New Cov might have ended days ago, but their impact hadn't faded for Lorn. The jungle had tested more than just his bladework. It had challenged the very core of his beliefs, his control, and the raw edges of his ego. He could still feel the memory of the Shaman's blade forcing his saber aside, the final leverage of her strength, not brute force, but something refined and knowing. It had been, against all expectations, a beautiful defeat.

And now, he waited.

The Republic had extended an invitation. Open doors, open minds. The Mandalorians were welcome to explore the Jedi way, an old olive branch, offered anew in a changed world. It wasn't politics that fueled Lorn's hope, but the sheer potential. The chance for understanding. The possibility of friction transformed into a forge.

He ran a thumb over the activation plate of his saber, feeling the dormant thrum beneath his fingertips without igniting it. She might come. The Warmaster. Runi. Perhaps she would bring her practice swords and that same unnerving calm that resided beneath her beast-helm. Or maybe she'd send another. Someone younger. Someone burning with anger. Lorn wasn't sure which he desired more.

The terrace gate stood open.

He could hear the river rushing along the base of the Temple cliffs. In the distance, the echoing laughter of Padawans drifted through the stone corridors. But here, on the terrace, only the wind spoke. The stillness before clashing steel. A place for warriors to draw breath before they drew their weapons.

Lorn exhaled slowly, settling into a low, ready stance. He would wait. Not just to test his mettle.

But to see who would meet him here and what they would bring with them.

Runi Kuryida | Maiz Tor'val​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

The Mandokarla was everywhere as Mandalorians were everywhere. Their Speaker, now a Warmaster with the Mandalorian Empire, traveled far in service to her people; and who was unworthy of embracing the Manda? When Lorn extended his invitation in the wake of the New Cov wargame, Runi accepted without hesitation. Lorn did not seem in doubt of his own philosophical beliefs, but just because one did not recognize they were vod in spirit did not make them less worthy of attention. All life was worthy of respect. Until it wasn't; and then they might have better luck in their next life.

Runi approached Naboo's Temple with her face bare as was her Way. Opportunities to grow closer were always better when both parties could see one another's expressions and to peer into each others' eyes. Even those that merely pointed the way were afforded nods or brief words of introduction. Someone was in wait of her arrival, so Runi did not break the Mandalorian custom of being forthright to dawdle.

At last, the terrace gate came into view and the feather-cloaked woman strode forth.

"The weather is always fair and the land supple on Naboo. It is good that some things do not change," the Shaman commented as she came to a stop across the marbled floor from where Lorn Reingard stood.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn practically snapped to attention. She stepped into the room, silhouetted by Naboo's gentle light, like some myth whispered back from the fire. No beast-helm today, no snarling armor. Just her face, clear and calm, with that quiet strength coiled beneath her skin.

He blinked, then dipped quickly into a bow. It was too formal, too stiff, maybe a beat too deep, his cloak swinging awkwardly with the motion. You could practically see him scrambling, trying to guess the right form of respect.

"Warmaster," he managed, straightening with a slight wince. "Or… Shaman? I'm, uh, still figuring out which one takes precedence." His hand hovered, unsure whether to offer it, then pulled back with a quick twitch. He settled for a gesture toward the terrace instead.

"You honor us by coming," he continued. "I wasn't sure if… well. You seemed pretty busy being terrifying on jungle battlefields." A small, sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He stepped aside then, giving her plenty of space on the training floor. His stance, though, remained relaxed, no saber drawn, not yet. "May I ask, then… where you're from?" he began, his tone softening. "Not the Mandalorian Empire, I mean. You. Your people. Your… quiet. I've known Mandalorians who shout. You don't shout."

There was a genuine sincerity in his voice now, something a Jedi couldn't easily fake. So many of them didn't have a home to ask about, after all. But Lorn had learned that real warriors, the truly formidable ones, often carried their world with them, even in silence. And he really wanted to know what hers sounded like.

Runi Kuryida​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Runi politely bowed in return to Lorn's welcome. Hers was a bit more fluid though it would be an exaggeration to say it was customary. Mandalorians of all cultures prowled the galaxy and you had to meet them where they were. "Warmaster, if I am here in honor of the Empire. I am personally known as Speaker of the Mandokarla, a group dedicated to the well-being of the Mandalorian people."

Her hazel eyes reflected a small, easy smile as Lorn worried she might not come. "You honor me, Knight, by inviting me." Runi spread her hands out to the side. "I am always available to those in need. Physical combat is just one way a warrior grows or remains strong, and not often the one needed most."

Lorn asked an interesting question then that caused Runi's eyes to open fully. A moment's paused followed. It wasn't often someone asked about her personally. They asked who she was, and got a name. What she wanted, and got a life's mission. But where she was from? As a root, and not merely Resa or some other enclave of the Mandokarla. "That is a very good question," she replied. "The simplest solution is the Mandokarla. I watch over it and seek to teach others how to live with honor and respect for the Manda, which encompasses every we perceived around us, each other, and ourselves. I strive to restore a world long lost to our people." A slight grimace and twist of the head accompanied her words. "Not Mandalore. Not alone. And not just those held by Clan or Mand'alor. My 'quiet' helps me hear the world around me. To understand others in order to grow together. It is only by necessity when battle and death is used. Even if their souls may return again someday, it is a wasted opportunity not to encourage their growth in this life, wouldn't you agree?"

"In turn, you conducted yourself admirably and with discipline in the field. Your warriors looked to you to carry them in the moment. Your blade struck true and without waste." Runi paused just a second with a slight smirk. "Some believe 'flare' can replace skill."

Lorn Reingard​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn truly listened. It wasn't a habit he'd always had. Too many years spent giving orders or silently enduring them had trained his mind to categorize rather than absorb. But this woman, this Speaker of the Mandokarla, she didn't speak to be heard. She spoke to reach, without a hint of performance, just profound weight. When she finished, he let the silence stretch between them; it wasn't awkward or stalling, just long enough to ensure he wasn't merely reacting to her words, but deeply responding to them.

"I do agree," he said quietly, his eyes drifting toward the wind-swept trees beyond the terrace edge. "But I didn't always." His voice was measured, low, not defensive, not ashamed, simply honest. "There was a time I believed growth came only through trial, through pain, through loss. That the soul needed to be shattered to be remade." He paused, then gave a faint shake of his head, as if untangling some stubborn knot that had been there too long. "That's how I was trained, though not by the Jedi, not really. I left them before I ever truly belonged."

He turned his gaze back to her now, his expression a little more open. "My master took me to a place called Mirater. It was a feudal world, kingdoms at war, generation after generation. There, growth came through blood, through victory, through survival. I lived among soldiers who believed mercy was weakness, and I loved them anyway." His lips twitched upward at the memory, but the smile faded quickly. "I killed my master in the end," he said, not with bitterness or drama, but as a fact that lived ingrained in his bones. He flexed his fingers slightly, as if feeling that moment still clinging to his skin. "I came back here to find something else, something I thought I'd lost. And I've spent every day since wondering if it was ever really mine to begin with."

Then, after a breath, a new tone crept in, no longer heavy or haunted, but curious. "So when I meet someone who chooses discipline over dominance, who believes honor isn't an affectation but a deeply held practice, I listen. Because that's someone who hasn't given up on others, or themselves."

He reached down, finally unclipping his saber, not igniting it, just letting it rest in his palm like a silent question. "I'd be honored if you'd show me your teachings. Not just in battle," he added, with a glance and a wry lift of his brow, "though I wouldn't mind a rematch." He held the saber loosely at his side, his other hand open, inviting rather than challenging. "Whatever form it takes, I'm ready to learn."

Runi Kuryida​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

The Shaman nodded her head in silence as Lorn described a life of trial. She did not interrupt to express her understanding, however, so he could reveal what was in his heart. A nod would suffice for camaraderie even if his eyes were averted elsewhere in that moment.

"There is much the Way of the Manda and the Way of certain Jedi shares. The greatest of these is that all things are bound together as One. Everything we see, hear, touch, smell, and taste is part of an incomprehensibly interconnected weave of energy that springs forth. A unified field from which all comes and all returns." She gestured to their surroundings. Not all Jedi entirely embraced this concept, but Runi thought it would be helpful to demonstrate how similar their beliefs could be. "We are all the same, and yet in order to grow we are different. Change brings new thoughts and finds new solutions to old problems -- it is the embodiment of life itself."

"Warriors train their bodies to be fierce opponents on the battlefield. Some train their minds to withstand cunning adversaries. But how many train their hearts or their souls?" Runi paused to allow Lorn a moment to absorb the question. "The Sith believe strength comes from power and through power victory. But victory over your enemies is short lived. Challenges arise from within, which is how their Way is consumed with greed and betrayal. There are even Mandalorians that believe similar philosophies." It was hardly necessary to mention the Neo-Crusaders by name. Naboo had hardly forgotten their presence on their world. "A warrior must train all of these things. If they are unbalanced they may be easily toppled when faced with the right foe." And not all foes were sentient creatures.

The Shaman nodded her head once again as a slight bow before Lorn. "Discipline trains the body, the mind, and the soul. The challenge is great, but so are the rewards."

Her hands rose to grasp the handles of both wooden swords along her back and to draw them forth. Runi cracked them together as she struck a pose ready for battle. "A form," the feather-cloaked woman said before she started to step to the left, "is useless in battle against most enemies, but," one blade rose to block an imagined blade as the other thrust, "it ingrains the moves into the warrior. It removes the need for thought and becomes part of who they are. With enough training, you know the proper counter to any strike." The Shaman would slice at the air for demonstration purposes. Each swing started and ended their arc with precision, with the tension and its release of her muscles measured. Not a single waver or jitter could be found as her feet slowly moved across the open floor. It would only be a short display, thirty seconds at most.

At last the Shaman gave Lorn a small smile. "All of life is a battle. The rules are different under different circumstances. The forms unrecognizable at times. But ultimately, a steady soul, a sharp wit, and an uncompromising physique weathers many trials. And, just as importantly, provides a common language to engage others." A shared training regimine, a skill set, a way of life... that little thread that allowed people to bridge societal gaps. Deeper connections could form in time afterward, if they hadn't already.

Lorn Reingard​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn watched the motion of her blades with a profound stillness. His body remained fixed, but his mind tracked every movement, every turn of her shoulder, every minute shift in her balance. This wasn't showmanship. There was no hunger for admiration in the Warmaster's stance. Each strike, each guard, was a quiet lesson in economy: no wasted power, no borrowed style, just the inevitable weight of experience forged into form.

When she stopped, and her words settled between them, Lorn finally exhaled. It wasn't relief he felt, but deep respect. "You make it sound simple," he said softly. "Not easy. Just simple. Build the form. Know the form. Become the form."

He paced forward, not close enough to challenge, but to study the space she'd occupied. His boots disturbed nothing on the marble floor, yet his thoughts felt louder than his steps. "I spent years learning forms," he admitted. "Not for discipline, but for survival. I memorized every move, every counter, because if I hesitated, I died. As did those beside me." He paused, glancing at her. It wasn't defensive or proud, just true. "I thought that made me disciplined."

His body shifted into the start of Shien, a reflexive movement that now felt tentative. It was an echo of what he'd been taught, not yet what he understood. "But all I learned was reflex, not understanding. You're right. The Sith train to dominate. The Jedi train to endure. Neither of those makes warriors."

His stance faltered slightly, his hand hovering. "Show me the first move." There was no pride in the request, no trace of his battlefield rank or Council seat. Just a man stripped down to his essence: a student.

Runi Kuryida​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Simple. Nothing was simple, only so familiar that you couldn't think of it any other way. Sometimes a thing became difficult to pass on because of just how ingrained the fundamentals had become. Even a teacher had to re-educate themselves on the details.

Hazel eyes returned the man's studious gaze. She made no effort to interrupt Lorn's thoughts. What he said made sense. Many believed as he did, and they were not wrong -- from a certain point of view. No one could be everything, but it remain the goal all the same.

Runi gave the man a slight nod before she brought her sword up and her feet shifted into the first stance. "Reflex is the beginning. Then you must add distraction. Reflection. If you can maintain the form, and remain aware of your surroundings, you will be that much closer to the control all warriors seek." Light and Dark didn't much matter to a Mandalorian, but it did for a Jedi. This could be useful for his purposes.

"Our people share much in common. Enough that Tarre Vizsla learned your ways, and brought them back to Mandalore. Brought back what was lost long ago when Revan's forces spread across the galaxy." Light and Dark didn't mean much, but there was a struggle between wanton and necessary violence. Who was to say when one crossed the line? That was the importance of Clan even if there were no guarantees.

She would slowly move from one motion to the next, always mindful of Lorn's gaze. Too fast and he wouldn't take it in. Too slow and that was a different sort of training. It was good he was interested in learning. Even if they ended up on opposite sides one day, the act and effort to find one's self was what mattered.

Lorn Reingard​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn mirrored her stance, not mimicking, but striving for deliberate precision. He wasn't trying to appear Mandalorian; he was trying to understand the meaning behind each shift in her posture. The inviting angle of her shoulder, the subtle movement of her feet, not bracing for impact, but poised for redirection. The rhythm was slower than any drill he'd done in years, forcing him to feel every motion like a language he hadn't realized he was fluent in. His brow furrowed, not with frustration, but with deep focus.

"Distraction," he murmured. He shifted his weight into the form's next motion, letting his body follow Runi's lead. "Jedi forms teach that emotion must be tempered, contained. The danger is always in the heat of a moment, a feeling that bleeds into the strike." He moved again, this time a half-step off, then corrected with a subtle pivot. "But this... this doesn't feel like containment." He glanced at her. "It feels like inclusion. Like you're not walling off the rage or the fear, you're folding it in."

Lorn let the thought settle, then moved with her again. His saber remained unlit, the weight in his hand, almost symbolic. It was the weapon of a Jedi who wasn't fighting, unused yet not unready. "You said reflex is the beginning," he mused. "That's where I got stuck, I think. I was too busy surviving to ask why a movement existed beyond what it blocked or killed." His next turn of the form came smoother, more natural. Less Jedi, more learner.

He watched her quietly as her movement flowed through the next part of the form. There was something artful about it, not performative, but deeply honest. "What do you see," he asked, "when you fight someone who has no form? No structure, just instinct and fury? Do you match it? Or do you stay in the rhythm, and let them burn themselves out against it?" The question wasn't academic; it was deeply personal. He'd fought that way himself once, formless, directionless, just a blade reacting to pain. And sometimes, that kind of fighter won. But Lorn was here to learn something different. Not how to merely survive, but how to endure with purpose.

Runi Kuryida​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Runi bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement to Lorn's words. "Emotion is a danger even to a Mandalorian. It can be channeled in order to overcome an overwhelming opponent, but if it is clutched too tightly it may be difficult to release when the danger has passed. Yet, our Way is to use every weapon, every tactic and technique conceivable in order to overcome. Even emotion. And like any weapon if not used wisely..."

A quiet chuckle rose from the Shaman. "There is never shame in finding new ways to survive. It is only a shame when a capable warrior does not recognize their true potential. None of us can perfect every form alone." Lorn was as wise this day as he had been on New Cov. Contemplative. Self-aware. They were characteristics that would serve him well.

Even as they spoke, Runi continued to shift from one movement to the next. Even if Lorn would not recognize his connection to the Manda today, it was uplifting to see someone grow. After all, one didn't need to claim to be Mandalorian in order to grow. They would bring their own strength back some day.

"Every opponent, every circumstance is unique. We trained so we do not need to think when we must fight someone driven solely on instinct -- whose movements cannot be anticipated or understood. But," Runi looked over at Lorn, "a warrior shouldn't seek to fight with the same blind, flailing motions given a choice. It could leave them open to being flanked or struck from long-distance. Most of my people do not possess precognitive abilities." she added as an important note especially why such techniques were dangerous.

But a Jedi? "I would never teach a young warrior how to fight blindly. It has its place," Runi acknowledged, "but used unwisely," she trailed off echoing her earlier sentiment. It was a combat art a number of Sith used -- to great effect at times. Yet look at the state of their society. It permeated every facet of their existence, twisting their minds and their hearts. They mistook power for strength, as many were prone to do.

"What is it you strive toward, Lorn? Mandalorians fight to protect their Clan. Some to prove their strength. What drives you?"

Lorn Reingard​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn's breath slowed, and with it, his movements settled into a measured cadence. His footwork still adjusted a heartbeat late, and his wrist compensated for hesitation, but he was no longer chasing her form. He was inhabiting his own.

She mentioned most of her people lacked precognition, a statement that grounded him. "Jedi forget what it's like to not see the strike coming," he said. "Or we get so used to sensing danger, we forget we're not immune to it." He punctuated the thought with a controlled downward sweep.

Runi's presence beside him was calm and patient. Lorn found himself glad for the stillness between their motions, for there was no command, no correction, just the quiet trust of shared practice. It reminded him of training with Soloman years ago on Mirater, before everything collapsed into ash and blood.

Her question, "What drives you?" struck him harder than any blade. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned from the form, slowly walking to the edge of the terrace. The afternoon sun carved Naboo's green hills in gold and shadow. Below, the temple gardens swayed in the wind, Padawans' voices distant and light. Somewhere down there was peace, or the illusion of it. Lorn had seen too much to ever believe peace simply happened.

"I used to fight because I wanted to be strong," he said at last, "stronger than my enemies, stronger than the pain. I thought if I became powerful enough, I could protect the people I loved. And when I lost them, I thought maybe if I kept fighting, I could at least make the loss mean something."

He turned back towards her, his saber still quiet in his hand. His voice lowered. "But that was when I thought strength was the end. Now, I think it's just the means."

He nodded toward the temple's heart. "Now... I fight so others don't have to, so my friends can live a life without dread, and so the next generation doesn't inherit a galaxy on fire." His jaw flexed slightly, almost a twitch. "And if I'm lucky, one day I'll sit beneath a tree, set down my saber, and know I've done enough. That it was better when I left it than when I arrived."

Lorn's eyes met Runi's again, not with challenge or even curiosity. There was just a quiet camaraderie, like soldiers who'd both been asked too much. "And what about you?" he asked. "Which one drives you?"

Runi Kuryida​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

The Shaman nodded slightly. "It is a common enough failing Mandalorian warriors exploit," she replied calmly to Lorn's observation of some Jedi relying on the Force to guide their every action. The sixth-sense as it were was quite a boon to Jedi; it made them a formidable opponent. Some warriors enjoyed opportunities to fight their kind for that very reason -- if you felt your skills above any mere thug, why not go up against someone that could literally see even a second into the future? The challenge alone was the point.

Then she dropped a question. A meaningful question. A personal one. Lorn took it that way more than most. Many would more or less shrug and give a half-hearted answer. Something surface-level. The Jedi Knight, on the other hand, took it to mean far more. Something he'd reflected on then. Something he... avoided?

Runi's movements locked in place and then her swords descended to her sides before they were sheathed once more. Those moments she left to Lorn to contemplate. Then she quietly drifted after him to the terrace where he waited.

Hazel eyes regarded the man in silence as he spoke. Lorn had obvious weathered much. Lost his share. Fought to find something to cling to -- a purpose, a meaning, a reason. Commendable. Was it foolish? The galaxy was filled with cycles that repeated again and again. In different places. Different ways. But the lessons one person learns are not the lessons all people learn and so the same lessons must be learned again and again and again.

"All souls come from the Manda. All sources return to the Manda. It is my duty to guide them to become stronger that the Manda become stronger, and some day, long from now..." the Shaman paused to stare at Lorn for a second before she turned to look out across the rolling hills and the plentiful gardens. "Some day, we might overcome the first mistake to find that belonging that all seek."

Runi turned her attention back to the warrior at her side. "All know of the journey before them, Lorn, but not all agree which path must be followed to get there. So, I will guide those that listen until we find our way."

Lorn Reingard​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Runi's words about the Manda, about guiding others toward belonging, lingered with him. He looked at her as she turned her gaze back from the hills.

"You make it sound so simple," he said. His tone wasn't challenging, but rather a weary, knowing acknowledgment. "A soul belongs, a path is walked, the Manda grows stronger. Jedi teachings echo the same idea: be part of the Force, serve it, flow with it. And yet…" He shook his head faintly, a humorless smile touching his lips. "We always find ways to complicate what should be simple. We cloak guidance in rules, in councils, in doctrine. You speak of leading those who will listen. My people write libraries, telling you exactly how to listen, when, and to whom."

His eyes dropped to the terrace floor, studying the worn stone beneath their feet. "I used to believe clarity lived in those rules. That if I followed every word, I'd never lose my footing. But battles don't pause while you search the Archives. And the galaxy," he exhaled, sharp and low, "doesn't care about doctrine. Only choices. The right ones, made right then, right there."

He stepped closer to the railing, resting a hand against the cool stone. He let the silence breathe between them. "Your duty," he said finally, "is to guide those who listen. Mine, I think, is to fight for those who can't, or won't, or simply don't know how." His gaze shifted back toward her. "The Manda and the Force, perhaps they're different rivers. But they both seem to ask us to carry someone else across."

Lorn's features softened, his voice quieter now. "And maybe that's enough."

He turned his head, looking past her toward the temple's shadow stretching over the grass. "Still," he added after a beat, "I envy the certainty in your words. To guide until the way is found. That sounds like faith. And if I'm honest, mine's grown thin."

He let out a breath, low and deliberate, then glanced back at Runi with a flicker of wry humor. "So. You guide. I fight. Tell me, Shaman. When the way forward isn't clear, which of us goes first?"

Runi Kuryida​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

The Shaman listened as Lorn spoke. A slight nod accompanied the words she'd heard, but she made no effort to interrupt.

"The Manda asks only that we grow stronger. Not just in body, but in mind and spirit as well. To guide is to fight. To fight is to survive. And we survive to protect what we hold dear." Runi gazed into his eyes. "Do not try to bear the weight of the galaxy, alone, warrior. I once sought to do the same, and was nearly buried beneath it. That is why I and the Mandokarla guide others to finding their way -- life in all its complexities, burdens, and expectations all too easily threatens to paralyze even the brightest soul."

"Don't fight for something you'll find in an Archive, Lorn, but for something within. Even if it takes a lifetime of experience before you realize what you cherish most, once you find it hold on to it, protect it, and help it flourish. Leave legacy and history to scholars. Focus on what's in front of you now." Runi paused for a moment. "Make it simple."

Not that one couldn't fight for something complex or gleaned from the Archives, but Lorn had obviously had his fill of that. A different approach was needed. That was what the Mandokarla did with warriors that came seeking help. They didn't teach peace through training with weapons or hauling their armor up a mountainside; they turned a Mandalorian's attention toward art, the forge, even studying manuscripts. When the mind tread the same path too long sometimes it lost all meaning; the way forward fell away and all one could see was the perilous cliff to either side. Runi could see Lorn was in need of change.

Lorn Reingard​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn listened, his shoulders relaxed. Runi's words carried a familiar weight. She spoke of simplicity: fighting for what was within, not for dusty records or the echo of history.

His lips pressed thin, then softened to a rueful smile. "Simple," he repeated, testing the word. He shook his head. "You'd think for all I've fought through, all the lessons beaten into me, I'd have figured that out by now. But leave it to a Mandalorian shaman to remind a Jedi that the hardest thing isn't just holding the line; it's remembering what truly matters."

He took a long, measured breath, letting the ache ease from his chest. "You're right. If I keep carrying the whole galaxy, I'll break under it. I keep fighting because it's easier than stopping long enough to look at what I actually want to protect."

Silence settled between them again. The gardens below whispered with wind, Naboo's hills burning gold. Lorn let the sight steady him, filling the cracks Runi's words had exposed. Finally, he turned to her with a small nod.

"Then my next lesson," he said quietly, "isn't about strength or doctrine. It's just about making things simple. Fighting for what's right in front of me, and not being so afraid to hold it close."

He set his saber back on his belt, the gesture marking the end of both their sparring and his confession. A touch of humor crept into his voice as he added, "Of course, if you tell anyone a Mandalorian gave me life advice, I'll deny it until the Archives rot."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in the barest smile. For the first time in a long while, Lorn felt he could breathe a little easier.

Runi Kuryida

-Feels like a good ending here-​