Meanwhile, on the steps below the dais, the Veynar elders were standing in a state of absolute, petrified paralysis, their spines stiff as dried pine.
Unlike the foreign envoys, the elders hadn't been the direct target of that suffocating pulse of authority. Veylara's control over her Fifth Layer foundation had been precise enough to shield her own council from the brunt of the strike.
Yet even the stray, residual draft of that sovereign pressure… the faint, secondary ripples that had leaked into the hall… had scared them completely shitless.
They knew their Warchief had broken through. They had watched the sky crack, had stood in the Great Square,, and heard her proclaim her ascension to the Fifth Layer with their own ears.
But in the bustling days that followed, Veylara had been relatively quiet, absorbed in managing the conquered supplies and directing the garrisons from within the lodge.
