[The Capital City Sarythran—Later]
The city did not breathe.
Shutters were closed, Doors barred, Braziers dimmed. Even the canals—normally loud and bright with life—flowed with a muted hush, as if the water itself feared to draw attention.
Only three figures broke the stillness:
The Malik. The Malika. And the Red Serpent Knights.
Levin rode beside Zeramet, cloak rippling behind him as he observed the architecture of Sarythran—arched sandstone homes, rooftop gardens, balconies carved with serpent motifs, and sun-catchers that glittered gold.
A soft warmth flickered in his chest, 'It's very beautiful… even in fear.'
On his shoulder, Lyseraph uncurled slightly, its obsidian scales shimmering. The tiny guardian lifted its head and released a soft, crystalline chirr—a warning, a searching note.
Captain Varesh Zirynth rode ahead, armor gleaming crimson beneath the harsh sun. Levin leaned forward slightly.
