Ren wasn't really good at standing still. Especially not when conversations were layered with metaphors, politics, and sad glowing eyes that definitely knew more than they were saying.
So naturally, he did the most tactful thing in the moment.
He pointed at Velara, the violet-eyed witch wrapped in starlit silk, and said:
Ren:
"Alright. So, no offense, but what the hell are you doing here?"
The courtyard went still for a second.
Veyrix raised one brow, not even trying to hide his amusement.
Marra looked like she was deciding whether to sigh or smack him.
Velara, however, just turned to him — slow, deliberate — as if weighing whether he was worth her oxygen.
Velara:
"I'm here to protect the Crestflare."
She said it with zero hesitation. No cryptic phrasing. No dramatic pause. Just plain, clean truth.
Velara:
"Protect it from Ashrunner. And protect everyone else because of it."
Ren blinked.
That was... unexpectedly direct.
Ren (shrugging):
"Well. At least someone around here answers a question without summoning a metaphor or setting me on fire."
Before Velara could respond, a sudden puff of violet smoke spiraled into the air behind her — laced with sulfur, heat, and the unmistakable scent of bad decisions.
Out of it stepped a creature.
Tall. Horned. Cloaked in layers of black flame and bone jewelry, with molten eyes and a forked tongue that somehow didn't interfere with his smugness. His tail flicked lazily behind him, trailing cinders.
Demon:
"Velaraaa~ You still haven't finished the pact rotation for the southern altar. The devour-ward's unstable again. And those soul-chimes you ordered? Total trash."
Ren instinctively reached for a weapon. Then paused.
Velara (not even turning):
"Not now, Sahrik."
Sahrik (pouting):
"You said that last century."
Velara:
"And I meant it."
The demon huffed, mumbled something about "ungrateful witches," and vanished into a crack in the floor with a fizzle of angry sparkles.
Ren (staring):
"...Did I just get skipped in the conversation queue by a hell intern?"
Nobody answered.
Velara was already turning back to Marra, deep in discussion about barrier layering and tracking glyphs.
Veyrix had walked off like brooding was a sport and he was training for nationals.
Even Elsera had drifted to the edge of the courtyard, eyes distant, quiet again.
Ren stood in the middle of the square like a guy who accidentally showed up to the wrong funeral.
Ren (muttering):
"Right. Cool. So everyone's busy. Crestflare here, cursed ghosts there. Demon chores. Guess I'll just go figure out how to not die alone."
He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered away, boots scraping stone as he moved through the glowing city gates.
The mission still echoed in his head — soft and sharp all at once:
Find Ashrunner.
Stop whatever's coming.
Survive long enough to matter.
But standing here, ignored and bleeding purpose?
Yeah.
He had no damn clue where the fuck to start.