When the echo of the explosion finally faded, the world seemed to take a moment longer before breathing again.
The leader remained where he stood, rigid. Sweat ran down his temple and along his neck, soaking into the ceremonial fabric beneath his robes. This was not ordinary fear. It was the certainty of having witnessed something completely beyond his control.
He reacted before panic could take shape.
"Do not panic," he ordered aloud.
His voice did not tremble, but neither did it carry unquestionable authority. It was an order born from urgency.
He leaned toward one of the men beside him and spoke in a low, precise murmur.
"Go. Find out what happened. Take care of everything."
Without waiting for a response, he turned to the other.
"You, handle the people. Make sure everyone is all right. Maintain order."
Both men nodded and moved immediately, aware that this was no moment for questions.
The leader clenched his teeth.
We cannot stop the event.
The thought was immediate and absolute. If it were halted now, if weakness were shown, chaos would follow. What had happened no longer mattered. What had been lost no longer mattered.
The event had to continue.
Despite everything, he did not leave his position. He stayed alert, senses taut, watching every movement, especially one.
Daverion.
When he approached him, he did not mention the explosion. He did not ask questions. He did not seek explanations. He made no reference to what had occurred.
He merely inclined his head slightly.
"Please, proceed."
Daverion moved forward.
Each step was calm and measured, as if the ground itself adjusted to his presence. As he walked, he turned his head just enough for his eyes to sweep across the scene.
He saw Dael.
He saw Mateo.
Both stood pale and unmoving, still struggling to process what they had witnessed.
He saw the children, clinging tightly to their parents, too young to fully understand.
He saw the vendor, still seated beside his overturned cart, staring into nothingness, breathing like someone who had just awakened from a nightmare far too real.
Daverion did not stop.
He only looked.
Then he continued walking.
Everyone was unharmed.
Physically, at least.
What had struck them was not a visible wound, but something deeper, something that could not be healed with rest or reassurance.
They had seen something they were never meant to see.
Something that had never before occurred before the eyes of so many.
Daverion advanced.
The leader delegated the entrance to another before moving. He could not afford a single lapse. Not now. Not with him present. He followed Daverion at a constant half step's distance, neither too close nor too far, as if every inch carried meaning.
That was when he felt it.
It was not pressure.
It was not heat.
It was a dry tightness in his chest, an unease that did not come from the surroundings, but from walking beside someone whose presence made the air itself feel altered. As if keeping pace with him demanded constant awareness, an invisible effort to avoid a mistake he did not yet understand.
They passed through the main entrance.
The interior opened before them like a different world.
An immense garden stretched beyond the walls, arranged with near reverent precision. Polished stone paths wound through meticulously kept flowerbeds. Tall trees with broad canopies cast soft shadows that shifted gently with the breeze. Sculptures, silent fountains, and decorative structures blended naturally into the space without disturbing its harmony.
It was a place designed to impress and to soothe.
Daverion walked calmly, unhurried, allowing himself to observe. His steps were soundless. His eyes traced the layout of the garden, the paths, the placement of trees, the details of the decor. He did not evaluate. He did not judge.
He simply looked.
The leader, however, did not relax for even a moment.
Every movement was controlled. His attention split between the surroundings and Daverion. He remained behind him, vigilant and alert, his posture unmistakable.
Guards began to appear along the sides of the path, heading toward the entrance. When they saw the designated leader, they stopped at once. They straightened and brought a fist to their chest in salute.
"Designated Leader."
The greeting was firm and automatic.
What they did not understand was everything else.
Why the leader had abandoned his post.
Why he was personally accompanying that young man.
Why he walked behind him, attentive to every step, like a subordinate rather than an authority.
Confusion flickered in their eyes, but none dared to ask.
The leader spoke without slowing.
"Go and assist the others."
He did not raise his voice. He did not need to.
"Yes, Designated Leader."
The guards resumed their march, though they could not help casting one last glance at Daverion before leaving.
The garden returned to stillness.
Only the soft sound of footsteps on stone, the distant murmur of water, and the whisper of wind through leaves accompanied their advance.
The leader swallowed.
He kept walking.
He stayed alert.
And deep down, he knew with uncomfortable clarity that he was not escorting a guest.
Before reaching the palace, the flow of people thickened.
Other guests moved along the garden paths, dressed in formal attire, accompanied by attendants and personal guards. Conversations were hushed and restrained, yet unable to conceal the unease lingering in the air. The explosion remained fresh in everyone's memory. No one spoke of it, but it was there, like an invisible crack beneath every step.
When they noticed the designated leader walking away from his usual position, personally escorting a young man, something shifted.
Eyes turned toward Daverion.
Not boldly.
Not challengingly.
Cautiously.
A distinguished man stepped forward. It was the viscount.
"Designated Leader, is everything all right? What happened?"
The leader did not stop immediately. He took two more steps beside Daverion before answering.
"Do not worry, Viscount. Everything is under control."
"It is nothing serious. The explosion occurred on the outskirts of the city. This is not an attack on the capital of the dynasty."
As he spoke, his eyes flicked briefly toward Daverion.
The viscount relaxed.
"Then we leave everything in your hands, Designated Leader."
"You may rest assured."
The viscount nodded and withdrew.
The marquis, who had observed the exchange, adjusted the hem of his robe and proceeded toward the palace as well.
The flow of movement stabilized once more.
Daverion continued walking.
The leader followed behind him.
And though no one spoke it aloud, everyone understood the same thing.
The night would continue.
But it was no longer the same.