ridinrollin
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It’s a drawing too good to be in a flimsy piece of paper, too detailed as if that man memorized every sharp edge and every metal structure it has. Looking at this now then sparing a glance to his own lantern by his hip, he hadn’t realized it was slightly chipped on that one corner.
“... This is amazing, Lukas. Are you sure your father is not an artist?” Flins managed to say with a dry throat.
“He suits being the Grand Master more than an artist, do believe me.” Lukas laughs softly.
Flins know of it. There was not a doubt left that this kid is Varka’s but hearing it out of Lukas’ own mouth sealed it in ways that Flins weren’t expecting, in his denial addled mind. He passes the paper over to the kid quickly in hopes that he doesn’t sense the way his hand is shaking faintly.
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In front of him is one of the Favonius Knights, hands holding out an enveloped letter. He looks down at it before up again to meet the other’s eyes in silent question.
“Ah, well. We found this amongst the paperwork on Captain Varka’s desk, I figured it would be best if you look at it.”
Reaching out for the envelope, Flins turns it around and finds his name written at the bottom corner. The urge to ignite this paper in flames was strong, there’s anger surging up in him at the audacity. He calms the storm as quickly as it comes, it does no good to scare off an innocent knight.
“Thank you.”
The letter feels heavy where it sits on the inside pocket of his coat. He itches to know what’s written and wishes to never open it at the same time, feeling as complicated as the feeling that's been bubbling in him ever since he received the news. He is mad, he’s crestfallen – he’s every emotion boiled into one, he faults Varka then he faults no one … it’s weird.