Scheduling A Fight
Maya arrived at Ijar's room, as she had done many times before, knocking lightly before entering. The routine was familiar, a formality in their strange partnership. She slipped inside and immediately knelt before Ijar, ready to deliver the latest information. But something was different this time—something that gave Maya pause.
Ijar was not wearing his usual cloak, the one that typically obscured his features and emitted the aura of dread that clung to him like a second skin. Instead, he sat in the room wearing only a pair of shorts and a robe that hung loosely off his shoulders. His brown, spiky hair looked surprisingly average, unremarkable even, but his sharp facial features were worth a second glance. He had an air of danger, the kind that lurked beneath the surface of his calm exterior.