Noel stretched slowly, the stiff mattress of the Tharvaldur guest quarters creaking beneath him as he pushed himself up to a seated position. His limbs still ached slightly from the previous day's combat, but it was a satisfying kind of soreness—the kind that let him know he was growing stronger.
There was no sunlight filtering through the stone walls of the mountain city, of course. Only the pale blue glow of mana-lamps embedded in the corners of the ceiling. He stood and wandered toward the small arched window, gazing out across the carved landscape of Tharvaldur.
Far in the distance, perched atop a central spire that jutted out like a stalactite flipped on its head, the city's grand mana-clock ticked forward. The hands pointed to an early hour. Too early for the streets to be crowded. Too early for noise. The silence suited him.
From the floor beside his bed, Noir stirred and let out a long yawn, tail flicking as she stretched out her limbs.
