After the waiter left their secluded table with the order, Lumian picked up his tri-colored liqueur—a vibrant mix of red, white, and blue—and clinked glasses with Franca before taking a sip.
Glancing around to ensure no one could overhear, he quietly recounted the detailed fate fragments of Moran Avigny. As Franca listened, her expression gradually morphed, a frown creasing her lovely brow.
"That white, thin fog you described… it reminds me of something," she said. "Does it have a mercurial, ever-shifting nature?"
Lumian considered briefly before nodding. "Yes, it does."
Franca let out a soft sigh. "It must be the same phenomenon then. You know how I told you about Jenna and I getting tailed by that entrustee of the vanished Deep Valley Cloister gatekeeper at the mysticism gathering? The one we ended up fighting?
