The silence that fell upon the hall was absolute. One could hear the faintest creak of boots shifting and the light crackle of the incense that still burned gently in the corners. The large wooden doors at the far end of the chamber opened without flourish, and yet the presence that entered through them commanded more attention than any grand entrance ever could.
The man who stepped into the room wore flowing violet robes threaded with golden embroidery that shimmered faintly beneath the lantern light. His posture was straight, unbent by the weight of centuries, and his face, though lined by age, held the kind of calm that could only be achieved by someone who had seen kingdoms rise and fall without so much as a flicker of panic. His long hair was pure silver, pulled back and tied with a strand of crimson silk. His beard, equally silver, was neatly trimmed, and his eyes, sharp, deep-set, and impossibly clear, swept across the room with the quiet power of a storm held in check.
