The air reeked of iron and smoke when the envoy with gold eyes entered.
Denzoran's war room, carved from black basalt, was dimly lit by torches spilling smoke into the domed ceiling. Maps covered a battered table, punctuated with pins—each one tracing the slow crawl of armies. Soldiers stood at grim attention, silent and unmoving. Jabari Abara's arrival broke the quiet, his silks gliding over the stone floor.
He wore robes of deep red, gold threads stitched in intricate patterns along the hem and collar. Gems flashed on his ears and wrists, yet his face held nothing soft—each line sharpened, an echo of something dangerous beneath. His smile unsettled the council, as though they'd glimpsed the wolf within the fold.
"Prince Jabari," a general began, voice wary. "Shiloh sends its—"
"I send *myself*," Jabari interrupted, his words warm but brittle, slipping easily into the ears of everyone present. A subtle melody, soothing nerves and relaxing grips around weapons. Some blinked as if waking, hands falling away from their hilts.
One figure remained still.
At the far end of the table, Christian Athanasiou watched from the shadows. His hair fell dark over slate-grey eyes. Arms folded, a wall unto himself. The torchlight made the shadows swirl about his feet, restless as coiled serpents.
"Careful, musician," Christian said quietly, voice cold. "This hall is not for performances."
Jabari's expression curled, almost mocking. "And yet your soldiers falter when I arrive. Do you discipline them, General, or do they drift like reeds in the wind?"
The jab struck, but the room stayed silent.
Christian unfolded his arms, stepping forward. Shadows bunched and rolled at his heels, wavering along the black basalt. They seemed to yearn closer, as if longing to swallow the envoy whole.
For an instant, the two Gifts met—Jabari's song humming at the edge of hearing, Christian's darkness thickening the air. Tension gathered, heavy as storm clouds.
Jabari let slip a single note, low and resonant. The soldier nearest him trembled—his sword slipped from numb fingers.
Christian simply lifted a hand—shadows unfurled, wrapping the soldier's wrist and gently tugging him backward before Jabari's music could claim him.
"An experiment," Jabari said, barely above a whisper. "Most yield at the first note. You endure."
Christian's eyes narrowed. "I am not most."
Gold met grey; the room seemed to vanish around them.
Conversation resumed, but every gaze lingered—drawn to the stillness between the two.
Outwardly, Shiloh called for peace, but Jabari's presence was a warning. His Gift could twist the loyalty of thousands in a heartbeat. Denzora braced for conflict—Christian's shadows had already reduced two border fortresses to dust.
The Church of Silence whispered from afar, condemning both men while quietly gathering shadowy allies of their own.
The tension between envoy and general was palpable. Not yet affection, but sharp recognition. An adversary who understood their weight.
Once the meeting ended, Christian lingered in the darkened corridor. Jabari's robes brushed stone as he passed—the air behind him tinged with myrrh and iron.
"You will regret coming here, singer," Christian murmured.
Jabari stopped, eyes glinting gold in the half-light. "And you, shadow-bound general, will regret underestimating me."
Their eyes locked once more. War pressed near, but something deeper had begun—relentless and quiet, dangerous as the conflict to come.