[: 3rd POV :]
"A fluke?"
Daniel's voice was a whisper that cut like glass.
His eyes, violet depths that swallowed light, fixed on Arcturus with a cold so absolute it felt like winter settling into bone.
Arcturus staggered, as if struck.
For the first time since he'd knelt at the altar, the Guild Master looked small, fractured by fear.
Those violet eyes bored into him, and something in his chest clenched tight.
"W-What…?" he managed, voice brittle.
Daniel took a single step forward.
The movement was simple, almost casual, but the air around him tightened as if obeying some invisible command.
His tone dropped; it was deep and soft at once, intimate and thunderous, carrying to every corner of the hall.
"Give me your best shot, and don't tell me it's going to be a fluke."
A silence more frightening than any scream followed.
The mercenaries' whispers died.
Walter's hand hovered on his sword as if expecting the world to split.
