The candles flickered softly through the hallways, casting a warm golden light.
The air around them turned thick as Yeara's gaze locked onto his face..deeply, almost piercingly—the candlelight reflecting in her clear green eyes.
Zalthor's eyes shifted to hers as he spoke slowly, as though he were thinking deeply…which he clearly wasn't.
"Perhaps…perhaps not," he said. And with that, he began descending the long staircase. Yeara hurried after him, matching his pace, determined to remain at his side—though truthfully, she simply could not stand the thought of being left behind on such a long staircase.
Yeara pouted softly before returning her lips to their usual expression. She had half expected this answer. She did not understand why he never answered her questions directly. He would give a reply, yet one could never tell if he was serious or not—except when he chose to show it.
They finally reached the ground floor and continued walking further.
