Bread & Brotherhood

[Quillon Hawke]

Quillon watched as she disposed of the gloves. Careful. Exact. Like ritual. It reminded him, oddly, of the liturgical gestures before Brotherhood prayers: purposeful and every step filled with meaning. There was a reverence to it, even if she didn’t mean it that way.
Her question lingered in the air for a moment before he answered. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he wanted to say it properly.

“A Veilwarden is a servant of the threshold,” he said at last. His voice carried the rhythm of someone who had said this before, but not enough to grow tired of it. “We stand between what is seen and unseen. Between what people believe... and what they endure.”

He looked down briefly at his bandaged hand, flexing his fingers beneath the cloth.

“We teach others. We protect the Veil. We witness the might of the Ascendancy.” He glanced back up at her.  His tone wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be.

“The title isn’t a reward. It’s a responsibility. And thank you for treating me with care, when many wouldn’t have.” His gaze steadied on her again. “You’ve given me your time. Your help. And your hand.” There was a flicker of something dry in his voice. Not quite humor, but the hint of it.

“May I ask for your name as well?”