It wasn't the first time she'd dragged Logue down here, and it probably wouldn't be the last. It didn't seem like he minded much, and his company was strangely comforting. Lucia likes his earnestness, his easygoing nature. Humble and charming, even if their backgrounds were starkly different. That, and there's something pretty nice about spending time with an adventurer that Mother looked on so poorly. It's a small act of rebellion, even if it's one Lucia plays close to her chest. She refused to make him feel bad for his roots. Heck, there are so many skeletons in her closet, she can't judge anyone for anything.

Skeletons in her closet, skeletons in her lineage. Her head swims with thoughts of them, as they descend into the Moors. The presence of her father is strongest down here, a blessing and a curse. He'd been such a wonderful man in the days he'd spent with the girl, and Mother had been so different then. Bitterness rising in the back of Lucia's throat, she's quick to choke it back. Of course things had been different. There's no use pining for the past. There's no use in trying to find a home within the palace of ghosts that the Company's hall had become, either.

But she'd channel his energy. Father had been an incredible adventurer, once. Before he'd settled down and become a family man, he'd been one of the most renowned. Most revered. Not only for the treasures he'd secured, but for those he'd recovered within the walls of the dungeon. Excellent at finding and bailing out lost Coursers, helping others who'd gone far off course. His navigation skills were his true gift, something Lucia had gratefully inherited. Always in tune with the strange, seemingly shifting halls of this place. Even now, the girl had no idea exactly how he'd done it. A true talent, and an incredible gift.

Mother's story was far more star studded, and far bloodier. She'd been the cutthroat and only daughter of the iron fisted family at the helm of the Black Company. Even in her younger years, she had built up a reputation among Coursers. Coming from the strongest stock, made of the worst stuff... Lucia knew, somewhere deep within her, that she was a product of her upbringing. Pushed hard, and pushed far. With no siblings to be pit against, it was Mother against the world. Against anyone who would have tried to unseat her, against her parents' advisors who swore putting a little girl at the helm of the Company was a mistake. Maybe it had been a mistake, in hindsight. It wasn't for Lucia to say.

It is for her to dwell on. At least as she winds her way deeper into the Moors, working to keep up with Logue. How many times had her father walked the same path? How many times had he come down here on a recon mission? Beyond that, there were the voices of his parents, too. Their skill in tracking was a gift given from birth, passed down as an innate sense. A sixth sense. A sense for danger, and a sense for the way out-- always. Something about a strong internal compass. Lucia could only be grateful for that as they traveled, and she could only ache for what she didn't know. Ache for who she didn't know, and those who were gone long before she could meet them. All the girl can hope is that she's doing them proud, and that they're watching over her, as they make their way deeper into the Moors of Sleep.