The smoke continued to pour slowly from Aestrea's eyes, thin and pale like it was drawn straight from the moon itself, swirling gently in the air around his face.
He leaned to the side, his cheek resting against his knuckles, looking down at the two figures below with a blank expression.
His voice had no malice, but that somehow made it worse.
"Shall we talk now?" he repeated, his tone almost bored, like the entire display had been nothing more than a brief inconvenience.
The throne creaked slightly beneath him as he crossed one leg over the other, his body completely relaxed.
A king without a crown. A moon without a sky. And still, somehow, everything revolved around him.
The Elven Emperor didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His hands were glowing, trembling slightly as he tried again and again to channel mana into his wife.
But each time, the healing light would flicker and die before it reached her chest. She was breathing heavily, her skin pale and clammy, pupils unfocused.
