Two Eyes Cenote A Winged Insect to Your Funeral Pyre

Amidst the myriad of expected reactions—anger, suspicion, perhaps even neutrality—a different response emerges: tears cascading down the stoic visage of Hebsut, and at that moment, somewhere deep within the recesses of his chest, a cobweb dislodged from a heart long shrouded in dust.

He did not know her story, although he felt he could guess. A fleeting urge to offer solace flickered within him, yet he hesitated. They were not friends, nor did they share a bond beyond their newfound alliance. Still, there was a silent understanding that tethered them together—a recognition of shared pain and a mutual goal.

As her hand trembled, he offered a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance before letting go. It was a small gesture, perhaps insignificant, but it was the best he could offer.

That is more than I could have hoped for, Machi responded softly, turning his gaze away to grant Eset the privacy to weep without inhibition. He admired—perhaps even envied—her unguarded display of emotion. He would not judge her for it—no, he refused to be the one to shame her for her tears.

When the crying subsided, he cleared his throat, turning back to the woman. I would like to return the favor, My Lady, he said, rising slowly and dusting himself off. Starting with this, the pale man added, poking a nail into her map. You're missing a spot.