The road from the festival to the manor wound steadily uphill, the lively sounds of the celebration fading as Adrian, Medea, Lilith, Zack, and the puppet soldier continued their journey. The manor stood on a slight elevation, overlooking the town like a watchful sentinel.
Adrian glanced at Medea, who moved ahead with her usual focused look. She had barely spoken since they left the town square, her eyes locked on the road ahead with an unreadable expression.
Adrian quickened his pace to catch up with her, feeling curious. He had fought against her and, beside her, witnessed her strength and power, but she remained a mystery.
"So," Adrian began, trying to strike up a conversation, "you fight like someone who's been at it for centuries. Where did you learn to handle a sword like that?"
Medea didn't slow her pace, her eyes fixed ahead. "I didn't learn," she replied curtly. "I was born to fight."
