Ciprian sat in a corner booth in the tavern of the inn where he'd been staying. Some people might call this establishment cozy with its hanging lamps, scuffed wood floors, and leather upholstered stools in front of a well-stocked bar. But to him, everything about it was completely and utterly unremarkable.
The people around him could still see him if they bothered to look, but they paid no heed to the presence of the True Core in their midst because of the magical aura he'd cast as a barrier between their existences and his own. They talked and laughed as they ate and drank, carrying on with their small lives with barely a glance in his direction.
It irritated Ciprian that he had to suffer the company of commoners again after he'd fought so hard to rise above them. He wanted to go back to the Core and tear down Alaric's protections against him, then tear down Alaric himself before dealing with the intruder in his head. After that, he would deal Wren and his son.
