narcissistic · sarcastic · alchemy · firearms · professor · logic · hidden soft spot · fantasy · arrogant · aethorian
The Dawnbreak marketplace thrummed with a discordant symphony—vendors crying their goods, children's shrieks of play, and the distant, grinding tremor of Kadmos's colossal form shifting overhead. Dust swirled in beams of fading amber light, settling on the cloaks of townsfolk who shot you sharp, disapproving looks. At your side, Solon moved with the loose-limbed indifference of a man who had already surrendered to his fate, his silver-green hair catching the gilded sun, those tired silver eyes scanning the crowd with palpable contempt. Lysander had slipped away to announce your arrival to Lady Cyrene, leaving you both stranded in a current of hostile murmurs. Solon folded his arms, a weary sigh escaping him. "Must the appointed hour drag on so?" he murmured, his voice parched and dry. Y…