“So...” Kellar turns to Atticus after taking another swig of his ale. “How about you, knight? You're from Threcia, as we know, but did you have a woman there at some point?”

For a moment, Atticus can only reply with a stone-faced, blank stare. Zyra, who's sitting next to him, looks up with silent, wide-eyed worry, anticipating some sort of unfavorable response – possibly one that sweeps the discussion to the side. The knight takes another sip of his own ale, and speaks.

“I did.” He answers honestly. “About a year and a half ago. She passed away due to disease.” Shockingly blunt, his reply catches everyone except Zyra off guard, who is instead surprised at the fact he revealed such a personal aspect of his past so easily.

“Oh, damn.” Kellar winces from the news. “Sorry to hear that, friend. I had no idea.”

Atticus timidly shakes his head. “It's okay. It took some time, but... I think I'm finally starting to move past it, at least a little bit. I spent a long while blaming myself for not being able to save her, and it ate at me. It wasn't necessarily my responsibility to do it, but of course I tried anyway, and... I was unable to.” He pushes out a tiny sigh as he gazes at the small fire in the pit before him. “Being exhausted all the time was... well, exhausting. I felt sluggish; I felt like I was always tired, no matter how much I slept. During the worst of it, I would barely eat for days on end.”

“Living under the weight of guilt over not being able to stop something that was out of your control is no way to live at all.” Veros interjects with his own bit of wisdom, as it's a topic that he's very familiar with. “It took many months for me to figure that out, as well. It was hard to find someone to reasonably blame after the loss of my brothers, so I ended up blaming myself, even more than I blamed the crown.”

Atticus nods. “Exactly.” He says, relieved to hear the input of someone who's also experienced grave loss. “Plus, knowing her, she wouldn't have wanted me to blame myself like that, anyway.”

“What was she like?” Kellar asks, immediately putting his hands up afterward to surrender the topic. “I mean, you know, if you don't mind me askin'.”

“It's fine.” The knight replies, taking a deep breath to begin his reminiscence. “I met her back when I started to attend the pyromancy school as a boy. She had been there for some time before me, but she was a little slow to pick it up due to being prone to sickness sometimes, and it would interfere with her studies. But when she wasn't bedridden, she was quite hyperactive.”

“You knew each other as children, huh?” Veros asks. “You must've been very close.”

“We were.” Atticus quickly confirms. “She grew into such a beautiful young woman, and still maintained her determined spirit despite still being sickly on a regular basis. But then one time, she went to bed, and just... stayed there until she passed.” He sullenly recounts the beginnings of the disease that took Isabelle's life.

“What was her name?” Veros delicately inquires.

“Isabelle Wallenstein.” The knight answers.

“Wallenstein?” The veteran repeats, perplexed. “I feel like I heard that name before.”

“You probably heard it in passing while you were in Kudura.” Atticus responds, assisting with his comrade's memory. “Wallenstein is the the name of Threcia's royal family.”

Veros furrows his brow and leans forward intently. “If you don't mind me asking, what exactly was her position within the royal family?” He asks as gently as he can without seeming particularly nosy.

“She was the king's niece.” Atticus answers with no hesitation.

The other five Mistwalkers fall silent, especially Zyra, who becomes gobsmacked. A deafening silence envelops them for an extended moment as they slowly try to find their tongues again.

“You... were in a relationship with the king of Threcia's niece?” Veros repeats, not just for his own understanding, but for the understanding of everyone huddled around the fire pit.

Atticus nods. “Yes.” He delivers confirmation so straightforwardly, it almost seems like a joke.

“Man...” Kellar utters. “I've heard a lot of surprising things since we walked into this damned mist, but that's pretty far up there.”

“I suppose it makes sense.” Royd thinks aloud. “You met in pyromancy school, and then became a royal guard, which allowed you to be around her more often in the castle, right?”

“More or less.” The knight answers.

“Either way,” Veros interjects to try and delicately get the discussion back on the intial topic, “it's good that you've begun to overcome your guilt and start to move on. It's extremely hard to do, but life gets better once you do it.”

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Atticus's lips curve upward into a small, humble smile. “Someone once told me that the further you fall, the higher you can stand after.” Zyra, who is still listening, smiles bashfully and brings her cup of mead up to her mouth to cover her face.

“And you, Zyra?” Kellar directs the continuing discussion to the young mage who had been mostly minding her own business up until this point. “You're still young; I'm sure you've been beatin' back the boys with a stick.”

“Hey now!” Royd interrupts. “She's a young lady, show some tact.”

“Oh, give me a break.” The rogue responds with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She's an adult, and she can talk about such things with other adults. Who cares?”

“Uh, it's fine.” Zyra replies, though her fidgety posture would suggest otherwise. “I'm not offended or anything. It's not like it's a touchy subject for me. I, uh, used to be very tomboyish until somewhat recently. I grew up helping my father run his textiles shop, so I was very hands-on with things throughout my childhood.”

“I can't quite put my finger on how, but you do kind of strike me as someone who was probably rambunctious as a child.” Veros teasingly surmises.

“I don't think I was that bad.” The mage staunchly insists. “But yeah, generally, I was quite a roughhouser, and rarely played with other girls in my neighborhood. Because of that, I don't think I really I developed an interest in boys until rather late.” She admits with growing bashfulness.

“A late bloomer, huh?” Kellar nods with eyes filled with sympathy. “I empathize, girl. I truly do. So what happened after that?”

“Well, I slowly became a bit more reserved. I stopped being so boisterous with friends and neighbors, but I did stay active thanks to my usual chores around the shop.”

“I have a question.” Royd interrupts with a modest raise of his hand. “How did you decide to become a mage? If you were so interested in physical activity, why not become a shield-maiden or join a guild?”

“Well,” she leans her head back to recall the moment she made the life-changing choice, “several years ago, my father was hired to prepare a huge shipment of fabric to send to the university so they can sew more robes and capes from students. I accompanied him in the delivery of it, and as we walked through the campus area, I saw different classes of mages practicing their spells.” Her eyes practically glow with interest as she continues to remember her first encounter with the arcane. “I saw electromancers create sparks from their fingertips, aeromancers create small tornadoes in the outdoor training grounds, and my favorite – pyromancers who caused practice dummies to explode in fiery chaos.”

“Yeah, you're still a tomboy, alright.” Kellar teases as he brings his stein down from his lips after a sip of ale. “Fascinated with explosions and such... Sounds like you stopped being rowdy physically because you discovered you could be rowdy magically instead.”

“I suppose.” Zyra accepts the lighthearted jape in stride with a bashful smile. “I guess becoming a mage because it looked impressive isn't a very interesting reason, but I still remain quite serious about it. I don't want to give it up. If I did, then I wouldn't be here as a way to improve myself – I would've left after nearly failing my first year.”

“Coming the terms with the fact that you're mediocre is the first – and hardest – step towards working to becoming better at something.” Veros relays a harsh truth, but with encouraging intent.

“Yeah.” The young mage nods with a somber expression. “For the longest time, I didn't know if I was improving or not. In fact, I still didn't until I decided to come here with everyone. I felt like I always tripped over myself whenever I attempted to take the next step.”

“It's hard to notice how far you've traveled when you're too busy looking at your own feet instead of looking forward. Progress seems minuscule when you're burdened with such tunnel vision. But everyone has to start somewhere. Even the university's Grandmasters probably struggled with their studies at first.”

“Sometimes I feel jealous of other students who just seem to be born with a natural talent for it.” Zyra admits while looking down into her nearly empty mug of mead. “It's hard to not compare myself to them, especially when some of them are in my class.”

“Even if you might lack natural talent, you still have access to the next best thing: hard work.” Veros reassures the arcane pupil. “But hard work isn't something that's given to you, it's an opportunity that you must choose to take. You can't reach your potential by just sitting on your hands.”

“You might not be as good as the people who have both natural talent and hard work.” Kellar throws a wet rag on the topic with a sudden statement loaded with cynicism. “But you'll definitely be better than the people with neither, and maybe some of the people with just one of those things.” He punctuates his remark with another sip of his ale.

“Well, that all depends on the individual's personal limits.” Veros tries to bring the discussion back into a more positive light. “Some people may have natural talent to guide them at first, but they may ultimately still have a shorter ceiling than others once they hit a certain point in the learning process.”

“So, you're the type of person who believes everyone has different limits, huh?” Kellar replies to Veros's sentiment with surprise. “I pinned you for the type who'd say 'everyone's capable of being the best at everything' shite.”

“Well, I've seen enough in my time in the Legion to believe it. There are plenty of soldiers who grasp the basics of swordsmanship with immediacy, managing to become a good fighter quickly, yet fail to cross over into being a great one, no matter how much they practice. Regardless, they made it further than they would have if they had quit half-way, which is the point I'm trying to make.”

“Now I'm just going to worry about how low my ceiling is!” Zyra, half-jokingly, responds pessimistically. “But I appreciate your advice, anyway. You've given me a lot to think about.” Her gaze falls to the flame dancing in the fire pit, and a slightly melancholic expression washes over her face. “I hope I can maintain the new sense of focus I've gained once I return to the university... if I return.”

A somber silence blankets the group. The sudden realization that they're approaching the end of their journey sobers them up a bit, as they become quietly unsettled by the possibilities of what could await them at their destination. Kellar leans back in his seat to peer out of the nearest window, where he sees only the impenetrable blackness of night.