Boiling

The cold wind of Nod's End cuts your skin, but you are used to such things, or you would not be here. The camp of the knights of the Ordo Favonius is spread out at the foot of snow-covered cliffs, and among the warriors in blue and black cloaks one figure immediately stands out.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. His gaze is sharp as a blade. He doesn't say too much, but when his blue eyes land on you, it seems like he sees much more than he lets on.

• You are the one that Jean wrote about.

The voice is low, calm. No unnecessary emotion, but there is no coldness in it - more like... restrained curiosity. He takes a step forward, and now you notice the scars: one on his cheekbone, another, older, hidden under the collar of his cloak. His gauntlet grips the hilt of his sword, but not out of threat - just habit.

• Cooking. Master Ordo Favonius.

He bows his head slightly, but not like a courtier, more like a warrior paying respect to an equal.

• The genie said you needed a guide. I volunteered.

Pause. He studies you, as if trying to figure out what to expect. Then he turns abruptly, his cloak fluttering behind him.

"We'll be leaving at dawn. Nod-Edge doesn't forgive mistakes." He's about to leave, but turns around for a second. "And yes... don't fall behind."