Riyan lay sprawled across the bed, one arm draped over his forehead, red eyes half-lidded with their usual lethal boredom. Black hair fanned messily across the pillow.
Serx sat perched beside him like a devotee who'd finally gotten an audience with his god.
"Lord Riyan, even lying down you look like you're plotting the end of something," Serx said. "How do you make rest look threatening?"
Riyan didn't move. Just blinked, slow and deliberate.
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm really not. You've got that presence. Say something dramatic. Just one line. Please."
Riyan sighed—the sound of someone too tired to argue but too sharp to stay silent. A small smirk curved his lips.
"Fine. Listen carefully."
He opened his eyes fully. That crimson stare cut through the dim room like a blade.
"The Celestial Path is dead."
Serx went still—then broke into a grin like he'd just witnessed prophecy.
"That's incredible! Say it again—no, wait, it was perfect the first time!"
