It touched him like a second skin.
And then he was gone.
Not torn.
Not burned.
Just removed.
The silence came back like an exhale.
Dythrael hadn't moved.
Not a step. Not a blink.
He stood in the center of the chamber like the still point of a collapsing world.
Melion looked at the floor where the last guard had stood.
Nothing there.
No blood.
No ashes.
No proof he had ever existed.
'What are you.'
Dythrael finally turned to her.
His expression hadn't changed.
No smugness. No pleasure. Just fact.
"You don't know me," he said.
"No."
"You will," he added. "Soon."
She didn't flinch.
Didn't posture.
Just straightened.
"My husband is alive," she said, voice steady. "And you've made a mistake."
Dythrael tilted his head slightly. Not mockery. Just curiosity.
"He's strong," Melion continued. "Stronger than most. But he's not the mistake."
"I didn't say he was."
"You think you'll get away with this?"
"No."
He took a single step forward.
Not fast.
