37

The morning air was fresh, crisp, and deceptively peaceful as Aristellus strolled down the cobblestone streets of the town. Sunlight streamed through the narrow gaps between rooftops, painting golden streaks across the ground. His steps were unhurried, his posture loose, as if he had all the time in the world. Perched on his shoulder like a smug overseer, Gaia swayed her tail idly, the tip brushing against his neck. Her tiny grin practically sparkled with mischief.

"You know," she began, breaking the stillness, "for someone people are already calling a hero, you don't really act like one. Don't you think you should look the part? A shining beacon of valor, standing tall, maybe with a more heroic gait?" She mimed puffing out her chest dramatically, her tail sweeping wide like a flag in the wind.

Aristellus let out a quiet snort, his hands buried in his cloak as he cast her a sidelong glance. "A hero? Me? Must be your imagination, Gaia."