"The Upper Moons," Zagrues muttered, the name not unfamiliar, but that was all that it was, having at most heard it in passing, many years if not cycles ago. He shook his head. "I've no clue."
Altair turned to Syris, but she gave a similar reaction: "I'm rather ignorant when it comes to Babels Tower politics." Her gaze swept across the many faces of unnamed creatures of unknown origins, wearily marking the strategic points of escape. She wasn't as comfortable anymore around so many people—not after the Lake of Rot.
Altair gently patted her shoulders, sending a jolt through her skin into her churning stomach. She blinked at him, managing to find her smile.
"I'm good," she lied, playing off the trepidation and caution she now held in crowds, pushing her spatial awareness to its limit. And to her credit, Syris had managed to retain her composure, though she was missing her mask.
