As Schrodinger and Leonore Rureaux touched down, a figure emerged from a nearby, half-tended field.
It was Duke Valen, the blind Duke of Origin, his wizened, bearded face etched with a deep, abiding concern.
He moved forward to help Schrodinger, who was supporting the frail, trembling form of Leonore. Behind him, other figures paused in their work.
Dukes of Living Temporals, their forms flickering in and out of the present. Living Elementals, who seemed to be trying to coax warmth back into the dead soil.
Even other Living Paradoxes, their expressions a mixture of surprise and wary respect.
Schrodinger waved a hand, a gentle, dismissive gesture. "It is okay," he said, his voice carrying a quiet authority that sought no argument.
"I will tend to her without an issue."
…!
Duke Valen and the others nodded, their gazes lingering on the woman Schrodinger supported.
