Silver Moraine kill

faust moves easily beside her, a quiet presence, his gaze steady on the path ahead. she does not fill the silence with wasted words, and for that, he finds himself at ease.
when she speaks again, he glances to her, the weight of his name in her voice, the curiosity in her tone.
my people. he confirms, the words simple, but carrying the weight of all that darukaal is—was—will be.
his steps slow slightly, just enough to watch her, to measure the way she carries herself, to listen to the cadence of her breath.
you have people? the question is quiet, but not careless. not meaningless. he wonders if she walks alone by choice, or if there is something lost to her. if there was ever a place she called home.