"Lyrien," Nameless murmured under his breath, the name echoing in his mind as he walked beside Arnin. His steps were measured, his gaze distant, while Lady Pherna rode Arnin's horse beside them, her white hair catching the sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees.
Arnin, however, had been talking—and complaining—nonstop since Lady Pherna had mounted his horse. His voice carried an exaggerated edge of irritation, but Nameless was barely listening, lost in his own thoughts.
A sharp, heavy tap on his arm jolted him back to reality.
"Khailian, are you even listening?" Arnin's voice broke through, his face a mask of exaggerated exasperation as he stared at Nameless.
Nameless blinked, glancing at Arnin, but before he could reply, Arnin launched into a tirade. "My knee, my leg… my whole body—they hurt. I was already tired, and now I have to walk back!" His words tumbled out in rapid succession, frustration coloring his tone.
