Several minutes later, Zephyrion left the Inheritance and its heir, heading back toward his sleeping area. A faint smile lingered on his face, accompanied by a calculating glint in his eyes.
'It worked well.'
Zephyrion had been particularly wary of the Inheritance, considering all the experience he would have amassed over the centuries, but he was rather pleased that the old soul hadn't called his bluff.
While it was true that relics could be manipulated, and that the academy relics observing them could be deceived by anyone skilled enough, it would be naïve to think that was the academy's only means of keeping watch over them.
Ever since awakening in the desert, he had felt them—the incessant sting of unseen eyes resting on him. He had been tailed far too many times during missions in the Order, many of which had nearly claimed his life, to mistake the sensation.
They were being watched.
