Octavius listened, a soft frown furrowing his brow.

“But…” he said softly, wading into potentially treacherous territory, “you were slaves to Coheed. Nevermere freed Cambria…and when we did, an agreement was struck. We are now one kingdom. Married, you might say. When you are strong, we all are strong. When you are weak, we all suffer.” He was surprised she didn’t understand this. Cambria was a victim to Coheed, not Neveremere.

Octavius was pleasantly surprised by the hand. It was a subtle thing, but spoke volumes of the potential. If they could all have more conversations like these then surely they would have peace. Surely they would all stand on the same side in this world.

Then a hug followed, and he was almost shocked senseless. At first he cut his eyes around, expecting this to be a joke. But no. It seemed sincere. Slowly, slowly, his arms moved to encase Waiola in return.

“Thanks.” The word left his lips softly, as if spoken to a sleeping child. Maybe he thought talking too loud would break this fragile moment.

Octavius was peering out over the top of Waiola’s head, thinking up what he would say when (not if) the soldiers who witnessed this tender moment came asking. Of course, it would all be teasing fun and games, but still, he’d need words to make sense of it all.

“Uh,” he said, not looking down at her when she shifted to look up, “it’s…harder to breathe there.” He’d never said that out loud before but he supposed it was true. “In Skia, anyway. Every nook and cranny is filled with a stone or a shop or a person.”