"The moment you step into that hall, you're not yourself. You're an image. Be careful to not cause a scene."
Lucavion let out a quiet, dry laugh. Not loud. Not disrespectful. Just… amused.
Kaleran's head snapped toward him with the precision of a blade being drawn. His stare cut sharper than most swords.
Lucavion's face had already returned to its composed, impassive state, his eyes half-lidded and calm.
"What," Kaleran said coolly, "is so funny?"
Lucavion gave the most innocent shrug a man with a void-forged estoc could manage. "Ahem. Nothing," he said smoothly. "I just… thought of something irrelevant."
"Be serious," Kaleran replied, each word enunciated with flat disapproval.
Lucavion placed a hand over his heart, mock solemn. "I always am."
Kaleran did not look convinced. He turned away with the sigh of a man who had already aged too many years thanks to a single student.
"Move. All of you," he said. "Your attendants are waiting."
