Alaric's words lingered between them, sharp and heavy, like the glint of a freshly unsheathed blade catching the last of the sun's rays. For a heartbeat, the garden itself seemed to still. The blossoms no longer swayed, the breeze quieted, and even the hush of evening felt as though it were holding its breath.
Lara's gaze drifted westward, to where the sun had long since drowned in the darkness. In its place, Venus, the evening star, bright and solitary, rose against the indigo veil, presiding over the silence like a sentinel. She barely registered Alaric at her side; her thoughts had slipped elsewhere, spiraling back to memories of Azurverda. One nation, twelve federal states, a single governing capital… Was this the seed of that world? Could it have been him—Alaric Kromwel—who first dreamed it into being?
And yet, in all her studies, his name had never appeared, not even a footnote nor a passing shadow in history.
Why?
"Ahem."
