After the departure of the Third Prince, the tension in the capital did not ease. If anything, it thickened like smoke gathering on a still night. Vahn stood at the heart of the storm, but his expression remained impassive. The words of the Third Prince still echoed in the hall. A declaration of war, though spoken with the mask of a diplomatic envoy. His refusal was inevitable.
But the real test was yet to come.
Later that evening, Celestine summoned Vahn to her private study. The room was as immaculate as always—pristine walls, dark wood furnishings, and shelves lined with ancient scrolls and books. The soft glow of spirit lamps cast muted shadows on the stone floor. It was a place where Vahn had never truly belonged, but now, in this moment, he could feel the weight of everything it represented.
