The voice thrummed through Albedo's consciousness suddenly, like a low chord that struck the strings of existence.
It wasn't loud, nor did the voice echo in his head, it just was, as if it was always there.
"You feel it too, don't you?"
His breath stilled. The faint hum of the carriage's runes faded beneath the rush of blood in his ears. For a heartbeat, everything, Miranda's calm breathing, Zeus's fidgeting, the rhythmic tapping of Elara's finger, disappeared beneath that voice.
Then his gaze slid toward her.
Saphira sat in the same seat, poised and regal, her eyes half-lidded as though lost in thought. Yet he could feel it, the thread of consciousness stretching from her to him, unseen but unbreakable.
'…You're speaking to me?'
