Torches hiss. Stone holds its breath.
He sits on the black throne. The room arranges itself around that fact.
A runner kneels with a slate.
From Sand. Breach at dawn. Archers dusted blind. The Pride Circle is broken. The Lion fell inside a pale field. Banners were replaced. The city was renamed as you requested, Your Greatness.
Luna claps once before she can stop herself.
That's awesome.
Her smile clicks back into place.
His gaze warms once. Vermillion Viatra blooms and fades.
And Cyrus. Witnesses swear the king fell inside a Ryōiki.
Two fingers lifted.
Shadows unthread from the walls. The Shinshō step into the presence and stop.
Luna, ink on her fingers, smiles a shade too bright.
The tornado, cloak scuffed by wind that never entered.
Ibara, sun-warm even in the dark.
Others remain only shapes, patient for their moment.
Execute Plan: Guan Diego, he says.
Tornado tips his head. "The most secure place on Magerina."
Luna tucks her book. Pop quiz. Entry vector. If we walk in as ourselves, will we survive?
Ibara does not look at the crystal feed.
A tall shadowed Shinsho risks counsel. What if the bull bites?
Make biting cost him, he says. Show no mercy to those who denied us.
Luna's smile clicks colder. I love the sound of that, professor.
Tornado rolls a shoulder. I will map routes and strategize exits.
Ibara sets his jaw. As long as I have to do nothing but guard, I don't care.
If the Association is busy with their counterattack, he says, they won't notice if we slip in.
Incense burns to a red thread and dies.
To the cloaks. Prep for countermeasures and sign land deals with Curan. When the bull arrives, he is for my hand.
One silhouette does not bow.
He stands by a fraction.
Seizen.
A figure peels from the stone. Lean. Unspeaking. The kind of quiet that forgets to cast a shadow. He looks up once.
Crimson Viatra flashes in his eyes like a blade turned in light. Dark again.
Moonrise, he says. Guan Diego. Hannibal Vonn is alive.
If the price is ugly, Seizen asks.
Destroy everyone in my path, he says.
Understood.
The torches steady. The wind at the shutters stops as if corrected.
Go, he says.
The Shinshō leaves like a door closing.
On the crystal, the Trial roars. In the throne room, the silence means everything.