SAGE
Prince Valenf was the one who spoke first.
"How are you feeling now, Sage?"
His voice was calm, measured, carrying the quiet authority of someone who did not need to raise it to be obeyed.
I bowed low before him, instinctively, deeply—lower than I had bowed to anyone in years.
Power wrapped around him like a second skin, dense and ancient and unmistakable. It pressed against my senses, not aggressively, but with a presence that dared anything around it to forget who he was.
Prince of his people.
I found myself wondering how old he truly was. He looked no older than Darius—no older than a virile male in his late twenties, broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, his hair dark and neatly bound at the nape of his neck.
But the weight in his gaze told another story. Time clung to him differently. Like stone shaped by centuries of water.
"I'm better," I said, lifting my head. My voice did not shake. I was proud of that.
