- Alveron IV POV -
The throne hall of Valor was silent. No advisors, no guards—Alveron had dismissed them all with a single order.
He sat back in the throne, shoulders broad, his frame radiating more strength than regality. The polished floor reflected the crimson and gold banners swaying gently from the high arches. His red eyes, glowing faintly even in the half-light, were fixed ahead, though his mind was far from the empty hall.
The words from the mirror replayed in his head. Nicolas. Broken. His mana core shattered beyond repair.
Alveron leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow against the carved armrest. 'Damn it, Nicolas… you told me you had it under control. I sent my soldiers. I gave the order to move, and I called them back because of you.'
His jaw tightened. He didn't curse aloud—he never did—but the weight of frustration pressed into his chest. He could still see Nicolas's calm expression, the confidence that had convinced him to pull back the army.
