[Silthara Palace—Dawn After the Full Moon Rite]
The horizon blushed with early gold, staining the dunes like soft fire. The courtyard before Silthara Palace echoed with the low rumble of carriage wheels and murmuring Red Knights standing in respectful formation.
The Veyrhold carriages—armored in frost-blue steel, bearing the crest of winter wings—waited with doors open.
Levin stood before them.
The pale morning light brushed across his ceremonial robes, softening his silhouette. Duke Aren and Aelira stood opposite him, framed by the quiet breath of dawn.
Duke Aren stepped forward first; he placed a firm, steady hand on Levin's shoulder—fatherly, warm, and heavy with pride.
"Take care, son," he said, voice low and resonant like a northern hymn. "And…" he paused, fingers tightening slightly, "I know you will survive here well."
His gaze softened. "Not because you must… but because you have always endured with grace. I have faith in you, Levin."
