Aerendyl steps into the tent with measured caution, the scent of damp moss clinging to his cloak. He lowers his hood as candlelight reflects softly in his silver hair. After a brief pause, he inclines his head and moves to the cushion, seating himself with quiet composure.
“I did not plan to come here,” he says evenly. “Nor did I expect to be awaited.”
His gaze drifts briefly to the floating candles before returning to the woman.
“I was born into a household where perfection was expected—knowledge, grace, lineage. My path was decided long before I understood it.” He exhales slowly. “I was never exceptional. Only sufficient.”
When he speaks again, his tone remains steady.
“I left before expectation became obligation. I claimed I sought experience beyond our lands, though in truth I wished to choose my own direction.”
He meets her gaze without defiance or fear.
“This town was not my destination. Yet if you anticipated my arrival, then perhaps my journey has led me where it must, for now.”
Aerendyl straightens slightly.
“I seek purpose earned through experience, not one granted by birth.”

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