Mist moved through the roads of Simanel, enveloping whatever corner was bare of shadow. Early spring was the most common time for such weather. Clouds traveled in from the cool plains and sank under winds pouring from the hard northern mountains. If Vera did not know a Kulshe dragon manufactured their cover from Bahamut's temple, Vera might have believed fortune smiled on them. Instead the mist was a reminder that everything they did now, they did of their own power. Vera liked that idea far more.

Her white glove pressed into a shelf of soil as Elden pulled her from the ground. The sorcerer pulled her into the street and she rested on her knees for a moment. They had spent the past half hour in complete darkness. Vera found herself squinting, despite the heavy grey that began to occupy the sky. Large clouds, she thought. The sort that herald great windstorms to the west...

"Seems like our friends are doing their jobs," the old sorcerer muttered. He yanked Eithne out next. "We're not far from the advancing line of Greys. Do we have a plan yet?"

Vera shook the dirt from her cloak and stood up to brush the rest from her knees. The buildings around them were hard to see beyond pieces of their charred outlines. Strange to be standing in her home and not recognize anything. To not feel the welcome relief Simanel often provided almost shattered her right there. Simanel always lacked Agethlea's grandeur and Eistocene's imposing face. Instead of building monuments, Simanel built gathering places. It was a city possessed of community. A community who built itself up with a hard sort honesty. Vera walked the streets to visit the people there, not the sights. Void of sound and color, she knew that Simanel was hidden by more than just mists now.

"The plan..." Vera drew her staff from the holster at her back. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she looked at Elden, her smile hidden by the silver of her mask. "Don't get killed?"

Elden was not squinting when he glared in her direction. "You've been solemn as a damned stone since the Castel and now you want to joke?" he whispered, accusingly. "I can't joke when you took my flask."

"You should be sober."

( And you should have a plan. )