The call to the Queen
The great manifest house door creaked and swung open. Leon moved out, the dim lamplight falling from within illuminating his form at the same time. The gentle light clung to him, reflecting off the dark folds of his cloak, catching in the jut of his jawline and the blaze of his golden eyes. The darkness of the tunnels behind him seemed to writhe as if reluctant to let him go.
For an instant, the light of the lamp painted him in a motionless picture—black cloak flowing over wide shoulders, golden eyes unwavering, his very presence demanding the way.
Not too far in front, a figure stood tall, unmoving and unspoken. Muffled in a dark hood, Alpha waited like stone, the light of the lamp casting a faint dance across the razor's edge of his masked face. Nova had brought Leon here, but Alpha had stayed back, waiting. His devotion was an anchor—unspoken, unstoppable.
