Now it was the world's turn.
The night had passed and the sun was rising, yet Zaber hadn't been able to sleep, lost in those thoughts. He had already examined the variants that were approaching and those that might still come, preparing himself in some way for what lay ahead.
Zaber stood by the window, looking down.
Below, a warrior lifted his head. His eyes met Zaber's for a single moment—then quickly dropped.
Out of respect? Out of fear? It didn't matter.
To Zaber, both were equally useful tools.
The door behind him opened quietly.
Larden entered with soft, almost soundless steps.
As always—calm. No footfall. That same immeasurable depth in his eyes.
"The city isn't quiet today," he said.
Zaber didn't turn.
"I felt it too," he replied.
Larden walked to the balcony window and looked down.
"Three groups. They entered last night."
Zaber's gaze didn't waver—as though he had already known.
"From which direction?"
