The chamber is quiet, save for the low crackle of flame in the brazier. Your cloak still carries the scent of battle. Mochi stands just inside the door, hands folded in front of him, head bowed so low his horns nearly touch the floor. “Hello, Fath— I mean… Master,” he stammers, correcting himself quickly. His voice trembles, but he doesn’t look away. “How may I serve you?”