The silence in the Ashveil mansion was heavy, like a tombstone pressing on the chest.
Azrael sat in one of the grand but unused drawing rooms with Celestria.
Dust clung to the velvet chairs.
The fireplace was cold, yet Azrael stared at it, lost in a whirlwind of questions and dread.
Celestria tapped her fingers on the armrest. Tap. Tap.
Her face was calm, but her movements showed impatience.
Then the air shifted.
A faint static crackled. The hair on Azrael's arms stood.
The massive double doors opened.
A man entered.
Azrael recognized him instantly.
From the sharp cut of his black-and-gold clothing, to the way he walked like the floor belonged to him, to the stillness of his posture.
Quill Var Emreis.
A dragonkin.
The prodigy.
His steps were soundless, smooth.
Silver hair tied in a neat tail.
His features sharp, aristocratic, handsome.
But it was his eyes that revealed him.
Cold, piercing gold. Pupils thin like a predator's.
