Next Day.
Amazarak Fallen Nation.
Forward Base.
Early morning.
Vane sat on a chair atop the flat rooftop of the main building, a steaming mug of black coffee cradled in both hands. He tilted his head back, gazing up at the early morning sky. The horizon was still dark, fading slowly into soft shades of purple and orange. The air was cool and clean, carrying the faint scent of dew and distant pine.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the stillness settle over him.
This is nice. Calm... no annoying Julius. Just the peaceful morning.
He glanced down at the mug in his hands, watching the dark liquid swirl gently with each small movement.
I can't believe this world has this bitter bean.
He took a slow sip, letting the bitterness spread across his tongue. It was sharp at first, then mellowed into something warm and grounding. The taste lingered at the back of his throat—bitter, then faintly sweet, then sour.
