Weeks later, the palace halls glowed with golden light, the kind that made shadows stretch long and soft across polished marble floors.
Servants hurried silently along the corridors, carrying scrolls, tablets, and parchment, their faces tight with concentration.
For weeks, the palace had been alive with this tense energy. Plans drafted, redrafted, argued over, and signed only to be ripped apart again. Now, the day of reckoning had come.
Fu Ling leaned lazily against one of the tall arched windows, watching the preparations below in the courtyard. Soldiers of both races stood in formal lines, human armor glinting silver, vampire cloaks flowing black like liquid night.
Cain stood at his side, silent, arms folded across his chest.
"Do you think it will hold?"
Fu Ling smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. "Treaties are like silk threads. Fragile, easily broken. But sometimes even a thread can hold up the world, if it's tied in the right place."
Cain hummed softly.
