"Vice General Eliza, what do you think of Sir Vivian?" Vincen asked as he held out a cup of coffee.
Steam was rising gently from both cups, curling up in the cold morning air.
General Eliza took the cup with a small thankful nod.
She blew softly on the hot drink before taking a slow sip.
"Well… what can I say," she began, her voice quiet.
"I heard so many stories about him. People called him the greatest genius of the empire."
She paused, took another warm sip, then looked at Vincen with calm eyes.
"And he really is that good. He lives up to every word they say."
Vincen let out a soft, tired sigh.
He sat down beside her on the wooden bench, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
The morning air felt very chilly.
Snowflakes still fell lightly, and soldiers nearby were busy brushing thick white snow off their tents with brooms and gloved hands.
