Duty holds, ready to spin and fight should the kid break. They cannot see whatever approaches them from behind, but the unknown beings, the source of those footfalls, breath against his neck. His collar ripples in the close moist air, and goosebumps crawl down his spine. No herald would get so close without attacking, but this creature is something else.

The moment stretches on.



Something turns on its heel, the air swirling behind him, and heavier steps sound off behind him. Duty waits until there is silence, ten seconds longer, and straightens. Nothing is there when he turns his head at last. They are alone.

"Well done," Duty tells the kid. His attention turns toward the misshapen concept of a butterfly, flat against the wall. "Your omen."