Blanchette settled beside Kivas in the monochrome lounge, light from the towering window casting pale patterns across polished floor tiles.
Beyond the glass the gothic spires of Monochara stretched upward, silhouettes carved by lantern glow and traceried runes.
There, Blanchette asked, voice gentle yet sharp in the hushed atmosphere, still wearing her usual mask of a smile. "How's the view?"
Kivas did not turn immediately. Her gaze lingered on the shifting panorama—fortress walls bracketed by black-forged towers, ribboning streets of cloud-forged conduits between them.
After seconds, she finally spoke, voice calm yet weighted by something, "This bastion thrives in its own form," she said. "Blackened stones and people living their own journey. Yet I sense something is missing. It unironically waits—like a garden tending buds before blooming its fruits."
Blanchette wore her usual closed-eyed smile as she leaned back into the lounge chair. "Missing what exactly?"
