Suspended above the arena, standing atop a flying sword that hummed with restrained ether, was Wester Silver.
His robes fluttered in the afternoon wind, dark fabric edged with silver thread snapping softly like banners before a storm.
His hands were clasped behind his back, posture straight, expression carved from stern resolve rather than the frailty expected of a man who had supposedly been lying in deep sleep.
"Wester?" Emperor Alexander Phoenix rose from his throne without conscious thought. Supreme Commander Xander Cross and the Grand Secretariat followed, instinctively mirroring the movement as if the air itself demanded ceremony.
Prince Kaelan exhaled through his nose, lips twitching faintly. "He chose now of all times," he muttered under his breath. He had known Wester had awakened, yet had respected the silence surrounding it. Timing, however, was a blade that cut both allies and enemies.
Kiara's brows knit together for a fraction of a second.
