The sun had already moved behind the stone palace, leaving Zyran's room dim. Only a small beast oil lamp flickered on the stone wall.
Zyran lay on a pile of fur, hugging a pillow as if it were a person. His legs were stretched in a relaxed pose, and his golden earrings reflected the firelight.
He should be napping.
Instead, the air in front of him suddenly sank into darkness.
A patch of shadow on the floor rippled like water. It gathered silently, climbing up the wall to form the vague outline of a jackal's head.
A low, strange voice sounded in his mind.
"Master. Report."
Zyran's smile disappeared. The usual lazy charm in his eyes faded, replaced by something sharp and ancient.
He slowly sat up and flicked his fingers. A faint black light circled his wrist, sealing the room.
"Speak."
