The courtyard felt heavier, as though the air itself bent toward him.
Khael Corzedar stood at the center of their gazes.
His hair had grown long, dark as midnight, falling in uneven strands that framed a face sharpened by time. Slightly tousled, untamed, it gave him the air of someone who had weathered storms far beyond their reach. And yet, the change that struck them most wasn't the hair, or even the matured angles of his jawline.
It was his eyes.
Calm. Friendly. A faint, approachable smile softened his features. But behind those eyes—there was something else now. A weight. A depth. Wisdom carved by fire and silence.
The robe he wore was still the same in essence: dark, with subtle green trim woven like veins of emerald. But its fabric shimmered faintly with a mystic aura, runes dancing at the hem as if alive. It wasn't just clothing anymore, it was a mantle of someone who had walked between eras.
And his arms
