The Evening That Followed the Sword
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The treasury doors groaned shut behind him, their heavy metal echo rolling through the corridor like a tired exhale. Leon stepped out, shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath, as if he'd left half a war inside that underground vault.
The two guards stationed at the entrance stiffened the moment they spotted him. They were the same men who had stood there when he first entered—broad-shouldered, disciplined, and loyal to their bones.
Both bowed, fists pressed over their hearts.
"Sire."
Leon nodded back with a simple, "Mm."
They kept their heads lowered, but he didn't miss the way their eyes flicked upward for the quickest second—catching his disheveled hair, the dirt smeared faintly along his jaw, and the sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. His clothes weren't torn, but he looked like someone who had just wrestled with a goddamned mountain.
They didn't comment. Smart men.
