The breath of the hall shifted—again. This time, not just with idle curiosity or rank-induced reflex. This was sharper. Focused. As if the air itself straightened in anticipation.
Aurelian's voice dropped. "And there it is."
They turned—just as the main archway parted like the frame of a painting being filled.
A woman….
She didn't enter. She arrived.
Her gown was deep emerald, its texture moving like liquid starlight. Silver runes—old ones, elegantly subtle—threaded through the silk in cascading spirals, catching just enough of the ambient mana to hum faintly with intent. Her gloves, pearl-sheen and exact in their fit, rested easily at her sides as she moved. Not too slow, not too fast. Each step a declaration of presence.
