Nalrond remembered Quylla’s wedding all too well. Especially how empty and sad the groom’s side of the aisle had been. Nalrond wasn’t a decorated Ranger like Morok, had no noble title of his own, and no family but the Fastarrows.

To make matters worse, Nalrond had none of the Tyrant’s aloof attitude.

Morok didn’t care if the entire Royal Court whispered behind his back, calling him a gold digger, and had no regard for his social standing, whereas the Agni was terrified of becoming a source of embarrassment for Friya.

“Agreed.” She nodded. “How is your training with Dawn going?”

Nalrond met the Horseman almost every day, and the conversations between them had become almost civil, yet just hearing her name was enough to twist his expression in a disgusted grimace.

“It’s going well. She’s a great teacher.” He admitted. “The hardest part isn’t learning her true Light Mastery techniques but forgetting everything I studied so far. Old habits die hard, but in my case, I shield them with my own body.

“No matter how small, every time I make changes to the Rezar legacy I feel like I’m betraying my people. That by letting go of our traditions, no matter how flawed they are, I’m condemning them all to oblivion.