Into this unlikely space steps a dark-eyed man in a black coat, the hems bleeding, ink and mist settling light and heavy and disappearing where it lands. His shadow is dense behind him, seems weighted as it drags. He is not surprised to be here.

This isn't the first time he's stepped into this amphitheatre. He's been here more than once, first by accident—he was quite surprised, then—and then to come looking for Ralston, though he's never stayed for very long. Indeed, he doesn't seem to spend much time visiting anyone else in their domains.

But he has been here alone, too. Just once. He came to walk around the tiers, running his hand over the balustrade—just to see. In case he might learn anything new of the man who made it.

"Maejyr Ralston?"

He always calls when he arrives, and always just as calmly.