[Present Time]
[Capital City of Galadriel]
The source of her hatred now stood before her. Unblinking. Unmoved. Untouched. His gaze, indifferent, settled upon her with the air of a man regarding an insignificant detail—something beneath his concern. His lips curled into a smile, sharp and knowing, as if that surrounding him was nothing but an afterthought. A mere inconvenience. The civilians stood still—motionless, soundless, yet breathing.
His doing.
Lyra's breath came shallow and quick, each inhale laced with fury. Her fingers curled into trembling fists, nails digging deep into her palms, drawing blood. Yet she felt none of it, her red eyes glowed with rising fury that clawed its way to the surface.
Aelfric moved.
Each step was measured—a slow and taunting few steps that carried a mockery of leisure. He walked forward, passing through the crowd as though they were obstacles in his path. And yet, not a single one reacted.
They parted for him.
