Kael descended the castle's grand steps with firm steps, already feeling the sudden change in atmosphere as he reached the main courtyard. The wind of the Witch Kingdom always blew differently there—sometimes as gentle as silk, sometimes as sharp as blades, depending on who was passing by. Today, it seemed alert, impatient, as if he knew something big was about to begin.
And there they were.
Irelia, with her impeccable posture, adjusting the last straps of her ceremonial combat attire—white and gold, flowing, light, yet sturdy enough to withstand her light magic. Her expression was focused, cold, but her fingers tapped rhythmically against her sheathed sword. Nervousness disguised as discipline.
