The mess hall smelled like roasted meat and fresh bread, the warm scent mingling with the faint tang of polished stone. Sunlight streamed in through high windows, glinting off the polished table surfaces and illuminating the occasional flicker of dust in the air. I sank into the bench beside Sasrir and Kai, letting the comfort of routine wash over me for the first time in hours. Lunch here wasn't a battlefield, and for now, that was enough.
We ate in silence at first, the clinking of utensils and the soft scrape of plates on wood filling the empty spaces between us. I chewed slowly, savoring the simple meal, letting the food give my body something it desperately needed after the morning with Saint. My muscles still ached, every limb reminding me of the blows I had taken.
Kai finally broke the silence, his voice casual but laced with genuine curiosity. "So… training going well?"
I shot a sideways glance at Sasrir, who was quietly slicing his meat with precision, his expression neutral as ever. "Great," I said quickly, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach my eyes.
Sasrir's voice cut in, calm and measured as always. "Terrible," he said, and the deadpan delivery nearly made me choke on my bread.
I groaned, dropping my fork back onto my plate. "Which is it, then?" I muttered.
Kai shrugged, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Sounds about right," he said, smirking. "Classic you two."
We bantered quietly, trading small jokes and observations about the hall, the food, and who had been slacking during morning duties. The silence was easy and comfortable, the kind that comes from long familiarity, where no one felt the need to fill every gap with words.
And then—like a storm rolling in from nowhere—Gemma appeared.
He plopped down on the bench beside me with the subtlety of a catapult, glaring in my direction like I had personally offended him in some unimaginable way. His brown hair was slightly tousled, his uniform tight across his shoulders, and his eyes—bright, sharp, and clearly unimpressed—locked onto me.
I swallowed, trying not to smile. Sasrir and Kai didn't even flinch; they simply continued eating as if a thundercloud hadn't just taken a seat next to me.
Gemma's glare softened—not in kindness, but into something more like simmering, barely-contained irritation. He picked up his fork, stabbing the meat on his plate with almost violent precision before shoving it into his mouth. Chewing angrily, he made it clear that he was thoroughly displeased with… well, everything, including me.
Since Tessai, since the nightmarish aftermath that followed, Gemma had been… unpleasant. Polite on the surface, yes, but with a deep, constant undercurrent of fury that made the air around him seem colder. And I didn't blame him; we had put him in an extremely tight spot, possibly at risk of being ousted as a traitor and executed, and he still hadn't forgiven us for acting without thinking about his side of things. Still, I didn't particularly care about Gemma's sttitude to me-while he didn't seem to engage in it himself, he protected rapists and murderers in his group.
As far as I was concerned, he was scum deserving of death. But since he was also useful, and hadn't actually been too hostile to me, I was willing to cooperate honestly with him.
Still, I couldn't help but feel a little amused as I watched him attack his food, cheeks flushing slightly as he mumbled under his breath about inefficiency, recklessness, and a whole list of things I was pretty sure didn't actually exist.
Kai, of course, smiled at the display, leaning back with a chuckle. Sasrir, ever the picture of stoic detachment, barely twitched an eyebrow. I, on the other hand, had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing outright.
We ate quietly for a few moments, Gemma's scowling energy hovering over me like a storm cloud, and yet somehow, despite it all, it felt… familiar. Comfortable, even. Life in the mess hall had a rhythm to it: eat, breathe, survive, and maybe tease each other just a little. For now, that was enough.
And somewhere beneath Gemma's anger, I could see the faint trace of obligation, the recognition that his loyalty—to Gunlaug, to orders, to duty—was absolute. Especially after what had happened with the last Lieutenant. There was no choice but to follow. Rage or no rage, he obeyed. And I, for one, was relieved.
I chewed my last bite, glancing around at the two men beside me. Sasrir, calm as a shadowed river. Kai, warm and teasing. And then Gemma, glaring at me like I'd just insulted the sun itself. For all the tension, all the history, all the exhaustion… I couldn't help but feel that, at least for a moment, we were exactly where we were meant to be.
Gemma finished the last bite of his meal with a sharp crunch and slammed his fork onto the plate. Without another word, he stood, the chair scraping harshly against the stone floor. He paused briefly, eyes narrowing at the two of us, and spoke over his shoulder.
"Gunlaug wants a meeting. All of the Host will be there," he said flatly, voice clipped and cold, before pivoting and marching away, the hem of his cloak swishing with each purposeful step.
The mess hall seemed to hold its breath after he left. The only sound was the fading echo of Gemma's boots against the stone floor, retreating into distance.
Kai shifted nervously, wringing his hands in his lap. "Should we… be worried?" His voice was tentative, hesitant, the edge of unease clear. His eyes flicked between Sasrir and me, betraying that he didn't like the sound of this at all.
Sasrir shook his head slowly, dark eyes calm and unwavering. "No," he said evenly. "The matter is settled for today. Gunlaug has no reason to openly condemn us—not when it would risk shattering the Host itself." His tone was absolute, precise, like a blade cutting through doubt.
I frowned, scratching the back of my neck. "True, but… we haven't gotten full control over the Guards yet. That faction is still resisting my influence. They're stubborn, unpredictable. Until we bring them in line, we aren't completely safe."
Sasrir's eyes glinted coldly. "Then we just need to hang a few troublemakers. Settle the rest by example. Fear works faster than negotiation."
Kai flinched so violently he nearly dropped his spoon. His pale face blanched, lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't speak outright objection. Instead, his voice trembled softly, more a whisper to himself than a command. "I… I don't know if… hanging people really solves anything…"
Sasrir's gaze met Kai's, dark and unyielding, and the Reaper's voice remained unruffled. "It does. And it is not my concern whether it is comfortable to hear. Results matter."