The name rippled through the chamber. For a moment, every voice hushed. Eldrin's name carried memory, of festivals, of battles fought side by side, of the Sunblade's brilliance cutting shadow from the edges of the world.
Vaelthorn's brow furrowed deeply.
"Eldrin," he rumbled. "The last I saw of him was not in triumph, but in silence. His host vanished to the east. We know not if he still breathes." His eyes hardened. "And now his son comes to us, carrying mortals on his shoulders. A boy who does not yet know the weight of centuries."
"Yet he fights," Sylwen countered quietly. "And more, he inspires. Did you not feel it, Vaelthorn? His words burn. He could have demanded sanctuary as his right, but instead he offered it as oath. To stand in his father's shadow, and yet speak with his own fire… That is no small thing."
