Soltair waited outside, accompanied by several maids. He still wore his armor, but the battle-stained steel had been polished to a gleam and a brilliant white cape hung from his pauldrons. I didn't have to look to know the Sun God's crest emblazoned on the back. I looked at him, waiting for him to speak, and he looked at the ground. His gauntleted hands trembled slightly, but he looked more nervous than upset.
"Oh my! Look at you," one of the maids exclaimed, pushing into the room, and I realized this one was actually a priestess, not a maid. "This won't do at all."
Uncomfortably, I folded my arms as she did a quick circle around me, prodding me from several angles and making noises of disapproval. I faintly recognized her from somewhere, but it wasn't until she beckoned the other maids forward that I recalled her name. Revera. The same who first cared for me and prepared the slave crest after I arrived at the Divine Throne.
