"Reiner, be honest with me, where does one acquire a high-quality dreamcatcher in this fortress, or do I have to weave one out of spite and old bootlaces?"
Reiner froze, hand hovering over the silver tea set, eyes wide. "Wait… a dream-what now, Master Cherion?" His voice had that perfect mix of polite confusion and pure "I have no idea what's happening."
Nothing… forget it," Cherion said with a small, teasing smile, then immediately flattened his expression like a ruler had run over it.
The dream had left a bitter coating on the back of Cherion's tongue, one that no amount of lukewarm tea could wash away. Standing by the tall, arched windows of his room, he watched the frost crawl across the glass in crystalline patterns. He was still reeling from the dawn. Not just from the Duke's bad mood, but from the dream, that sun-drenched, dusty training ground where the original Cherion had wasted his youth chasing a shadow.
