That night.
The estate of the Vaise family stretched silent beneath the weight of moonlight, its many towers casting jagged shadows like the ribs of a sleeping beast.
Somewhere deep inside, in a chamber veiled with runic silencing scripts and a thin trace of cold incense, sat Zephyr.
He didn't move. Not even a twitch.
His silver robes were immaculate. His eyes—cold and dark violet—remained fixed on the figure kneeling before him.
The subordinate's breath caught in his throat, sweat trailing down his brow.
He had been reporting the progress every five minutes, but Zephyr hadn't said a word.
"They're... still not responding," the man muttered at last, lowering his head further to the stone floor. "We believe the resonance link is broken. It's been almost five hours. We've sent out a dozen search parties, but we—"
A sound. A single tap. Like bone on obsidian.
Zephyr's index finger rapped against the side of his throne's armrest.
Once.
Then silence again.
