Mikhailis sat at the table in his chambers, a series of maps spread out before him, marking the winding roads from Silvarion Thalor to the southern kingdom of Serewyn. The maps were more a prop than anything else, a way to make the mission feel tangible in his hands. In truth, Rodion had already mapped out the entire route, and the glasses on his nose could show him the way without much effort.
He traced his fingers along the drawn lines, leaning back in his chair. Vyrelda, Cerys, Lira—each had their own role in this journey. Vyrelda was to be the sword, the steadfast protector, always reminding him of his responsibilities, never letting him stray too far from the path. Cerys was the observer, her silence almost as imposing as Vyrelda's fierce presence. And Lira… Lira was the touch of familiarity, someone who treated him more like Mikhailis and less like a prince. Someone who would poke fun at him, add a bit of warmth to the otherwise cold mission.
