When the royal summons arrived, sealed in the deep blue wax of King Roman, Turik did not answer at once. Instead, he penned a reply, courteous and restrained — requesting a little time to recover.Alongside it, he sent a scroll: intelligence about Lara, pieced together from Mira's account and whispers gathered by his network of spies scattered across the realm.
Then came the long nights — nights where time itself seemed to stretch and coil around him like smoke. Each dusk, the lamps flared to life, their golden light warring with the creeping dark. The scent of burning myrrh and crushed herbs hung heavy in the room, mingling with the salt of his sweat and the metallic tang of pain.
Doctor Nam moved like a shadow through it all, silent but deliberate. His needles glinting like slivers of moonlight, his voice a low murmur of patience and restraint.
But patience was a virtue Turik did not possess.
