The Law of Iron Silence
Varen met Ben's gaze across the grand chamber, the faint echo of steel threading through his calm tone.
"I will, my lord… if you permit it."
Ben's expression didn't move. His stare was sharp but heavy with thought. The chamber was quiet—too quiet—until the fire crackled against the stone walls. After a long pause, Ben exhaled, his eyes narrowing just slightly.
"Permission," he said slowly, "depends on what you intend."
Varen inclined his head. His voice carried the steadiness of a man who'd already made peace with his decision. "Then hear me, my lord."
He took a step forward. The faint scrape of his boots echoed, pulling every eye in the court toward him. The air thickened; even the ministers seemed to straighten unconsciously.
"I seek the royal decree," Varen said, his voice carrying with quiet power. "For martial law to be enacted within the capital."
The words landed like a blade striking iron.
