Like an automatic reflex, as soon as Leo announced the Duke's entrance both Ashborn and Avin snapped to their feet.
"What the hell?"
Avin thought, fingers tingling with the sudden shock of motion. He hadn't meant to stand — his body had obeyed an old, carved-in command that detonated whenever the Duke's name filled the room. The action felt like a fuse in his skull lighting without permission.
Heavy footsteps answered Leo's words from the corridor. The air thickened. Avin's knees betrayed him with tiny, electric tremors—so small no one else would notice, but enough to make the world feel unstable under his feet.
The figure who entered seemed to carry silence with him. Taller than anyone Avin had seen in this life, the man moved with slow, measured steps.
Red hair caught the light like embers; broad shoulders filled the doorway. His armor was a slab of red lacquer, glossy as dried blood, etched with flowing inscriptions that glittered faintly.
