They ate in silence for a while. The fire crackled. The cave's darkness pressed close beyond the circle of light, but for now, it felt almost cozy. Almost safe.

Idris finished his third fireclaw and felt the hunger recede to something manageable. Not gone, it would never be fully gone, but dulled. Controlled. He could think again. Could breathe. Could function. I dare that crescent to come back now.

He leaned back against the cave wall and studied his new companion.

Ramzah ate methodically, efficiently, stripping the meat from the shell with precise bites. No wasted movement. No mess. Like everything else about him, it suggested training. Discipline. A life where waste meant death.

“You’ve interrogated me this entire time. I think it’s my turn,” Idris said.

Ramzah's eyes flicked up, then back to his food. "Ask away."

"Firstly, what are you? I can tell you’re not a common soldier, even if I have been out for so long, I doubt ever soldier would be so well trained of higher threats."

A pause. Ramzah's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly around a mouthful of fireclaw. He chewed, swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral.

"I’m a part of a special group of soldiers. Let’s just say that. What I will tell you is every kingdom has one, and we’re meant to deal with the odd balls like you, and the magicians."

Idris accepted the answer. He didn’t need details yet. "And what of the world? What wars plague Falcia?"

Ramzah set down the remains of his fireclaw. The firelight carved deep shadows into his face. "Nothing comparable to your times. Small skirmishes here and there. The biggest issue are the magicians. They're more like terrorists than anything else."

“So everyone has issues with them?” 

“Nah. Unfortunately,” he shook his head. “Xarben and Endorica are pretty accepting of them. It’s sort of like an alliance with them, which brings tension with the rest of us.” 

“I see.”

"What else?" he prompted. "Tell me about the cities, and the transport. Are they all like the convoy? Machine-like?"

Ramzah shook his head. "Well, the convoy is mostly just for defensive reasons. The majority of transport is with cars.” 

“Cars?”

“Yeah, smaller than the convoy, four wheels.” 

Idris’s eyes widened. “I think my grandfather told me about those before. Before the war with Bahamut in his times the technology was much more advanced.”

“Exactly, we’ve basically just gotten back to that point I’d say,” he scratches his chin. “Hmm cities. Most people live in permanent settlements, villages, towns, a few real cities. Endorica is the biggest. Also has a massive port with ships from across the ocean."

“He used to say Endorica was the place to be as well. I wonder what all these places would be like.”

"Please. It’s nothing that interesting. Unless you’re on the wealthy side of things tt's crowded. Stinks. Full of thieves and merchants and people who'll cut your throat for copper." But Ramzah's voice held something like fondness. "Also full of food and color. I spent a year there once during my training. Never a dull moment."

Idris filed this away. Women in trousers. Such a small thing, but it spoke volumes about how society had shifted.

"What about you?" Ramzah asked suddenly. "What was it like, three hundred years ago?"

The question caught Idris off guard. He opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. What had it been like? The memories were there, but they felt distant. Like looking at paintings of someone else's life.

"Different," he said finally. "Smaller, in some ways. The cities were smaller. The forests were bigger. A lot less machinery. I’ll have to experience this new age to give you an accurate description of all the differences

Ramzah was watching him closely. "And you? What were you, before? I’m sure even the Count of Darkthorn wasn’t born the Count."

"A soldier. Of sorts." Idris smiled slightly. "I studied Furusiyya. So me and you could basically have been buddies back then."

Ramzah was quiet for a moment. “Funny, I always heard Darkthorn was close with Qahila. I didn’t think it would be so close. 

"Ha, My grandfather Ilyas was half Qahilan, and my grandfather was fully Qahilan." Idris looked at the fire. "Maybe one day, now that I have this treaty, I can bring their visions of Darkthorn back. I never got the chance before, but now I do."

The words hung in the air between them. A promise. The fire crackled. The cave's darkness pressed close. 

“I think we should call it a night. It’ll probably start getting too dark to move around soon.” 

Ramzah nodded. “Right. Stone bedsheets and all.” 

“It ain’t that bad.” 

“You’ve been sleeping in stone for three hundred years…of course it isn’t that bad for you.”