[Ancestral Hall—Continuation—Silthara Palace]
The midday sun bled through the latticework windows in molten streams, painting serpentine lines of gold across the stone floor. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams like floating embers—yet the hall felt colder than morning, as though breath itself dared not disturb the air.
Levin sat poised at the long stone table. The map of Zahryssar lay before him, rolled open like a great serpent basking in sunlight.
But he did not look at it.
Asha and Lyserph pressed tighter against his legs—tiny bodies sharpened by worry.
Levin's gaze remained fixed.
Unbroken.
Locked onto her.
The unfamiliar attendant.
The girl's trembling grew with every heartbeat—first a soft quiver, then a sharp tremor, then a violent shiver that made the metal tray rattle in her hand. Sweat slicked along her throat, catching light like venom on a blade.
At last, Iru wiped the tasting spoon clean and bowed.
