Later that afternoon
In the Emperor's private study, the atmosphere was markedly different from the sharp-edged rhythm of the council chamber. The low hum of the ether fireplace filled the space, its steady glow casting soft gold across shelves of sealed ledgers and stacks of pending reports.
Damian sat in the high-backed chair by the desk, one arm securely around Arik, the other holding a sheaf of documents he read aloud in a low, deliberate tone. The words themselves, border inspection reports and military requisitions, were hardly the stuff of lullabies, but the cadence was enough to keep the child's golden eyes fixed on him with quiet, unwavering attention.
