The stars were still out when the Stranger returned.
He knelt first.
Then the Sect Master.
Then the five Elders followed, all dressed in elaborate robes, expressions serene as if they hadn't just marched through a battlefield of acid and shattered chitin.
Darin, wrapped in a blanket, groggily rubbing his temples from a mana-core hangover, barely registered the line of high-ranking zealots bowing in the moonlight.
The Stranger spoke first, as ever, voice thick with theatrical awe.
"Congratulations, my Lord… You're almost returning to your prime."
Darin blinked at him.
The Overlord in his head let out a smug chuckle.
"Why, thank you, even though it's not me. But points for accuracy."
Darin didn't even flinch. He just sighed, raising one finger, shaking it slowly.
"No. No speeches. No titles. I'm tired, my bones feel like soup, and my brain feels like I did cartwheels on a lightning rod."
The Stranger bowed even deeper, head to the ground.
