The first thing to break the silence was not a voice.
It was her gaze.
Ekaterina tilted her face just a few millimeters — a small gesture, but far too calculated to be casual.
It was analysis.
It was recognition.
It was a silent so that's what you are.
Éreon didn't move.
He didn't need to.
The purple energy behind his eyes oscillated in micro-beats, revealing that the draconic pulse had not yet dissipated.
The air between them shifted — no longer the air of a confrontation.
But of a negotiation table without a table.
Of two forces who knew that any sentence could become a verdict.
Only after that dense second did Ekaterina step forward once.
"So let's skip the theater," she said, steady, calculated. "You're going to tell me exactly why you came?"
The purple glow in his eyes narrowed.
"Wrong question," Éreon said. "Why are you here?"
Her smile didn't appear — but something in her face adjusted, like an internal mechanism aligning itself.
"Divinities are all the same," Ekaterina replied. "You think you can walk in wherever you want and demand whatever you want."
Éreon waited a moment.
A single pulse of purple slid across his irises — slow, heavy, enough to make the dust vibrate.
"Demand?" he said, in a sharp whisper. "If I were demanding… you would have noticed."
The air seemed to tighten.
The wind shifted.
Subtle, almost imperceptible — as if the air itself realized the conversation was about to cross an important line.
Ekaterina narrowed her bioluminescent gaze.
It wasn't a threat.
It was calculation.
"If you're here," she said, her voice low, measuring each syllable, "it can only mean one thing."
She took another step, her crimson mantle swinging like a silent threat.
"Sutara handed the Codex to Brianna."
The princess's name cut the space between them like a blade.
"But I'll admit…" Ekaterina continued, tilting her chin slightly, "I didn't think she would send someone else in her place."
The smile tugging at the corner of her mouth was almost cruel.
"Don't tell me she's afraid to face me?"
It was the first time Éreon actually moved his face.
A subtle arch of a brow.
Not surprise.
Not irritation.
Contempt.
"Afraid?" he repeated, with a sarcasm too sharp to be casual. "I'm sorry I don't have white hair or sun-bronzed skin."
The purple energy flickered once, showing that the humor was only surface-level.
"But I'm not here because of that woman."
Ekaterina didn't blink.
"Then why did you come?"
Éreon lifted his chin, and for the first time in that conversation, his tone changed — colder.
More direct.
"What I want to know," he said, "is what you want in my empire."
The word echoed like a reminder.
A warning.
"Depending on your answer…" Éreon finished, his purple gaze sharp as an ancient sentence, "we could become allies."
Pause.
"Or enemies."
The air seemed to hold its breath.
Ekaterina clicked her tongue softly — not in disapproval, but in a thin amusement.
"Your empire?" she repeated, tasting the absurdity. "Funny. Last time I checked my military map, the throne still had Tupã's name carved on it."
She stepped closer, dismantling a bluff.
"Or do you believe a god gives up territory just because you decided to declare possession?"
The silence after her provocation lasted less than a breath.
And yet it was enough for them both to move.
Not an attack.
A test.
A tear of purple air formed in Éreon's hand — a short, dense blade made of condensed energy.
But at that same instant, a dry click echoed to the right of his face.
Ekaterina was there.
The pistol pressed against his temple.
No teleport.
No visual trick.
Just speed — the kind of speed that does not belong to ordinary humans.
Éreon's purple eyes contracted, not in surprise, but in calculation.
The energy-blade vanished from his hand as if it had never existed.
"Interesting," he murmured, without turning his head. "You're not made of the same fabric as the rest of your species."
Ekaterina tilted the weapon a millimeter, almost elegantly.
"And you're not made of the same fabric as the divinities I've faced before."
They exchanged glances.
Fast.
Precise.
A silent recognition that neither of them was bluffing.
The commander stepped back only enough to remove the barrel from his skin — but not enough to stop controlling him with her gaze.
"Now that it's clear neither you nor I will pretend to be weak…" Ekaterina said, holstering the pistol with trained fluidity, "we can continue the conversation."
She turned, ready to lead him toward the elevated platform.
Éreon stepped behind — not retreating, but accepting.
The air between them shifted again, taking on something more dangerous than hostility:
Purpose.
Behind them, one single sound ran through the ranks of soldiers — a released breath.
Some swallowed hard.
Others tightened their grip on their weapons, trying to understand how everything had happened too fast for human eyes.
Ekaterina didn't need to look to know.
Neither did Éreon.
They climbed the first steps of the platform — side by side, but not together.
And as the platform descended — carrying Éreon and Ekaterina away from the metallic chaos of the base above —
…on the other side of the Empire, Éon kept his gaze lost on the horizon.
Brianna's words still echoed inside him like something too heavy to ignore.
Something that shouldn't have been true.
But was.
The cold wind from the valley didn't help — it only seemed to push Éon's thoughts further away.
He didn't hear footsteps.
But he recognized the presence before it even announced itself.
Karna stopped beside him, unhurried, asking no immediate questions.
He simply stood there — like someone sharing a weight that cannot be named.
A few seconds of silence passed before he finally spoke:
"Do you think Éreon knew?" Karna asked, voice low, almost hoarse. "About… all of this?"
Éon didn't take his eyes off the horizon.
"He knew," Éon answered, simple, decisive. "Since the first meeting in the Marquesado. The moment he awakened. And after that private conversation with Brianna… nothing was the same."
Karna let out a short sound — between frustration and a bitter reminder.
"Hard to forget," he muttered. "He crossed the Paths of Kaelir as if they were regular hallways… and still almost started a fight with Phoebe. And then Brianna decided to go to the Central Kingdom. All because of that conversation."
Éon narrowed his eyes slightly — and the memory returned with uncomfortable clarity:
The metallic scent.
The living darkness.
The cold that felt like it could bite into the soul.
And the voice.
Érobo, standing there, staring at Éon as if seeing him for the first time.
"Conviction isn't about being sure…"
"…it's about keeping your feet moving even when everything in you wants to stop."
And behind him — Éreon.
Not the Éreon of now.
The other one.
The one who smiled as if staring at a poorly staged play.
"Look at you… hesitating again."
"If you keep this up, you won't even need to face me. The Abyss will swallow you on its own."
The anger.
The fear.
The need to prove he wouldn't break right there.
The same need that was now rising again in his chest.
The memory dissolved.
And Éon finally raised his face, his voice firm, unshaken:
"We move."
Karna stayed silent for a moment.
There was no shock.
No doubt.
Just that old tension — the tension of someone who knows the right choice is never the comfortable one.
He inhaled slowly, straightening his shoulders.
"Then I'll gather the others," Karna said. "They'll want to hear it from you, but… they'll start preparing."
He took a few steps, but stopped before fully leaving.
He turned his head just enough for Éon to see the silent respect there.
"You've changed," he said, without irony, without judgment. "Seems you finally managed to put your thoughts in order."
Éon tilted his head lightly — not a smile, not relief.
"You too," he replied. "You finally pulled yourself together."
Karna exhaled softly through his nose.
It wasn't humor.
It was acceptance.
"If he really went through that process…" Karna said, each word heavier than the last, "as Brianna claimed… then you know what that means."
Éon didn't move.
Karna continued:
"As your friend… and as someone who promised Edda I would protect you… if someone has to stop him, that someone is me."
He drew a slow, firm breath.
"Even if it means losing everything. Including my life."
The silence that followed wasn't discomfort.
It was understanding.
Éon didn't answer.
Karna nodded once — firm, like a military seal — and began descending the trail to gather the rest of the group.
The wind rose again.
And Éon remained there, staring at a horizon that somehow felt both closer and more dangerous at the same time.
The wind dragged dust across the ground.
There was no hurry in his steps — only decision.
Four days later, the army reached the outskirts of the Eastern Kingdom.