[He doesn’t know of any land named Othard, either, but at this rate it’s hardly surprising. More importantly is the sense of relief trickling through him as his potential offense is waved away, as though Oz has given him leave to forgive himself of this assumption.

After all, who is he to brandish a lance against another simply because they possess horns, or are defined by the harsh contour lines of a not-quite human shape? Dimitri, who is all princely mien with a blood-starved beast raking at his heart within, should know better.

The gratitude feels undeserved, but he is glad to have earned it. Strange how it sparks something almost-giddy in him, enough to make him laugh lightly.]

I am glad for it, but you don’t need to thank me for misjudging you. Maybe you were right to turn your sword on me.

[He almost shrugs, though, dismissing the whole ordeal. The corridor becomes bathed in light as they leave the ceiling-greenhouse behind, the long stretch of a stone bridge unveiling itself before them, the sky yawning overhead and just beyond. All of it cast beneath the gloom of night.]

At any rate, with enough fortune and luck, I hope you can buy that passage you’re seeking. What do you plan to do if you reach Eorzea?