Elian's POV
*****
A few hours later. Lunarian palace.
The throne room had never felt this alive.
Not with tension. Not with fear. But with something softer. Hope, settling into the marble like warmth after a long storm.
Sunlight poured through the high arched windows, refracting through enchanted crystal panes and spilling silver-gold patterns across the floor. The ancient sigils carved into the walls glowed faintly.
Elian stood near the foot of the dais, hands folded loosely in front of him, pulse steady despite the weight of the moment pressing at his chest.
He'd worn black and silver so often these past days that today felt… different. The mourning colors were still there, yes—but they were no longer heavy.
They were ceremonial now. Transitional.
Around them, the room filled slowly.
