Lucavion turned toward Harlan, brushing dust from his sleeves as the reactive weave beneath his clothes adjusted with subtle ease. He watched the old man for a second longer—long enough to really see past the gruff posture and the scowl he wore like armor.
"Old man," he said casually, "between all that grumbling, you're actually a pretty good guy."
Harlan's expression darkened instantly. "What the hell are you saying, you bastard?"
He stepped forward, hand already swinging up in the direction of Lucavion's head.
But Lucavion was already two steps back, slipping just out of reach with practiced ease. "Tch. Still slow."
"Next time I'm forging you a sword with a built-in shock rune," Harlan muttered.
Lucavion gave a chuckle, then paused. Looked at him again.
And the smile that followed wasn't his usual grin. It wasn't sharp. It wasn't hiding anything.
It was small.
Simple.
Real.
"Thank you," he said, voice steady. "For everything, old man."
