The outskirts of Velmourne were quieter than the capital deserved.
Black stone walls curved along the horizon like a sleeping beast, their ridges softened by drifting mist. Frost clung to iron lantern posts. The wind dragged low across the ground, threading through skeletal trees that ringed the envoy's temporary encampment.
The Veiled Tribe's banners hung stiff in the cold.
The new peace envoy stood apart from the others.
Silver mask. High collar. Layered robes falling in precise lines. Gloves even here, even outdoors. The faint torchlight caught the etched patterns of the metal, turning it briefly luminous before the mist swallowed the shine again.
He was speaking.
The voice that came through the mask carried that familiar metallic resonance — a low vibration filtered through thin runic mesh built into the mouthpiece. It had always sounded slightly distant. Almost hollow. Detached.
That was why no one questioned it when it sounded just a little different.
