Five days had passed since Kivas Chariot walked into Solvish Keep with a halo above her head, five Divine Constructs trailing behind her like an escort of ominous celestial judges, and a personal bodyguard in the form of the most feared entity once known to Vaingall's history.
That encounter carved a tremor across the fabric of the bastion, a confrontation that left none untouched, and now, on the sixth day of her survival in this world—an unbroken personal record—Kivas found herself leaning back against a curved bonewood bench in the corner of Charishe's restaurant, skewering snacks with relaxed precision.
Samael sat beside her, an elbow on the table, calmly sipping from a ceramic mug filled with some arcane variation of tea that looked like liquid obsidian.
A pair of Tall-eared Workers darted by, one balancing a platter atop her oversized fox ears, the other twirling a spoon dramatically for no real reason.