A few days later, far from the smoldering ruins of the New Order's citadel, Julian sat on a weathered wooden pier, a fishing rod held loosely in his hands. The sun was warm, the lake was calm, and the only sounds were the gentle lapping of water and the rustle of leaves.
Beside him, Fey lounged in a similar posture, her own line cast into the deep. She let out a soft, content sigh. "Quiet day," she remarked, her voice lazy and relaxed.
Julian didn't turn his head, his gaze fixed on the water's surface. "I didn't take you for the fishing type, Fey."
A dry smirk touched her lips. "Been doing it since I was a kid. It's... quiet. Lets your thoughts settle. No one demanding you build a death ray or a perpetual motion machine." She gave a slight shrug. "Guess that's why my skill is 'Liquid,' huh? Always felt a pull towards the flow of things, and water's the best at just... going with the flow."
