With that, von Aurastor turned on his heel—a crisp, Militarum-style pivot, yet executed with a flourish only his unique eccentricity could muster. The grand sway of the overcoat worn across his shoulders seemed to command the very air as he began to walk, expecting Calix to follow.
Calix fell into step a pace behind, his gaze fixed on the confident line of his master’s back. He wondered if the man ever put down the performance, or if the performance had long since consumed the man entirely.