The palace had grown quieter with the coming of night, though the silence within its endless corridors no longer resembled peace so much as restraint, as though the entire imperial residence had learned to lower its voice in anticipation of the Rite that now loomed over the capital like an approaching storm whose arrival could no longer be delayed.
Silvain remained standing near the small table by the window long after the Temple summons had already been read.
The official parchment rested open before him beneath the soft glow of lanternlight, the black seal of the Temple broken neatly in two, its contents predictable in the rigid precision that had always defined Temple doctrine.
Date of the Rite.
Procedural expectations.
Required presence before the court.
Nothing unexpected.
Nothing personal.
Nothing human.
And yet—
It was not the Temple summons that held his attention now.
It was the second letter resting quietly beside it.
Smaller.
Lighter.
