Tijana dismissed her maidservant and walked shoulder to shoulder with Lancelot through the bustling streets of the blacksmith district. Beside them, Dwarven artisans ran back and forth, and occasionally a cry of alarm would signify the discovery of a new casualty under some rubble, followed swiftly by a pair of Dwarfs carrying a stretcher hurrying past.
"What do you understand about souls?"
"Before coming to this plane, I always thought it was just a concept," Lancelot shrugged, "Now I roughly know a soul is truly an existence separate from the body, it carries our consciousness, memories, and emotions..."
"Then, how do you comprehend the term 'mortal'?"
"Mortal?" Lancelot pondered for a moment, "Generally, it refers to those humanoid beings with limited lifespans that age as time passes... Occasionally, when I'm lucky enough to win during sparring, you also use that term to remind me not to get too cocky..."
