Gratitude
Lucavion stepped out of Roderick's office, the cool evening air brushing against his face as he made his way down the cobbled streets of Rackenshore. The town was quieter than usual, the tension of the recent bandit threat finally lifting. With Korvan and his lieutenants dead, the people could breathe again, free from the terror that had plagued them for months. He could sense the subtle shift in the atmosphere—an underlying relief that pulsed through the town.
He walked with purpose, but his mind wandered as he surveyed the people around him. Some had begun to return to their routines, children playing in the streets, merchants setting up their evening stalls, and villagers chatting outside their homes. The shadows of fear had retreated, replaced by a cautious optimism that life could return to some semblance of normalcy.
[Vitaliara's voice echoed in his mind, soft yet playful.] [So, how does it feel to be Lucavion Renwyn, orphan of Veilcrest?]