Standing Down

I laid my blade into the groove of a wooden pen tray. The steel settled with a muffled click. My elbow joints gave a faint hum as I released the tension held throughout the day. Nearby sat a heavy ceramic mug, its dark surface cool to the touch. I stepped down from the tray, gathered the torn folds of my cape inward, and leaned back against the mug's rounded base. The wide wooden surface stretched out into stillness. No drafts. No sudden shifts in the room. I let my posture slacken against the smooth pottery, allowing the quiet to settle through my armor.