Aeson stumbled forwards, his legs like reeds in the wind. It had been a long time since he’d drawn that heavily from the Spark. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like. He rested his palm on Verma’s shoulder, drawing in a slow breath to ease the struggle in his lungs. “You age like oak, old friend. Stronger with every passing summer.” Verma turned to look up at him, sweat rolling down the bridge of her nose. “Four hundred years and you’re still no better at speeches.” Aeson grunted as he laughed. “I’ve been busy.”
