Hideaway Strath Synapses Snap Back in Blissful Anguish

Machiavelli’s smile curved faintly, his expression unreadable as he rose with a soft wince. Very well, Zitari. No sense delaying—it’s only a short walk through the woods.

He nodded to his followers, signaling them to gather the remains of their small feast. As they worked, he retrieved the empty wine bowl, giving it a final rinse in the stream, watching the last crimson traces swirl and vanish. Once all was tidied, he led the way, heavy limp now visible in the uneven steps he took toward the ravine. Every so often, he would pause, pressing a dark shoulder against a tree, catching his breath in quiet defiance of any disciple who offered assistance with a simple, slight shake of his head. He could manage on his own.

The trail wound into a clearing, where he dismissed his attendants with an unhurried thanks, gaze following them as they disappeared back into the camp. This way, dear, he murmured, casting her a sidelong look before ducking into the cave on uneven steps. His pale eyes caught the light and reflected it ten-fold as he moved into the darkness.

The cave walls glimmered faintly with veins of gold streaked through the stone, catching the dim light like threads of fire. He reached out, letting a clawed paw trace along the cool surface, guiding Zitari deeper through the winding tunnel.

Please, make yourself comfortable, he said, gesturing to a modest nest of woven mosses and leaves arranged in the corner. This will take me a moment.

He moved with purpose, his attention shifting to the rubble scattered about the cave floor, opalescent gaze lingering on shards that sparkled like metal sunlight. Selecting a suitable piece, he began grinding it into a fine, glistening powder, and once he had gathered enough, he caught a few slow drips of water from the stalactites above, mixing the two until a thick paste formed, which he studied with quiet satisfaction. The crude creation held a pleasing shimmer—not the fine cosmetics of Muat-Riya, but more than acceptable for such short notice.

Removing a few of the larger grains with his nails, he turned to Zitari, the faintest glimmer of warmth and intrigue in his gaze as he approached and knelt before her. His voice softened to velvet.

May I?