Zhenari stood on the dark balcony of the Imperium's northern spire. Snow fell, but never touched her. The air shimmered around her form, warped by magnetic shielding. Her eyes scanned the horizon, a cold wind brushing against invisible barriers. Beneath the stillness of the landscape, her mind churned like a storm, recalling every calculated move, every haunting decision that brought them here.
Amon appeared behind her. "Eira is awake."
Zhenari didn't flinch. "Then your plans are unraveling."
"She'll lead them," Amon said. "And we will break her again."
Zhenari turned, eyes glowing. "You built systems, Amon. But they built bonds. Do not underestimate that."
"Emotion is noise. We silence it with order."
"Then why do you still grieve?"
Amon's face twitched—but only for a second. He walked away without replying, his reflection fractured by the crystalline wall. Zhenari watched him go, wondering how long before his logic collapsed under its own weight.
