Vaelorian couldn't wrap his head around the King's decision of waiting for one whole week.
It had already been three days since the council and apart from himself no one else seemed to be paying heed to the vulnerable Elves who were suffering outside.
The corridor stretched ahead, long and hushed, its pale stone walls threaded with faint veins of mana that pulsed like a distant heartbeat. The light they cast was steady, almost serene, but it did nothing to ease the tension coiled beneath his skin. His steps did not falter, measured and unhurried.
He kept thinking of the fabric that carried the sigil of the demons and then the mana stone that carried the essence of a Dragon. But then again, why would they have to wait for a week?
What purpose would that serve?
If there were demons then they had to act swiftly for the absolute protection of Yggdrasil.
The thought refused to settle, like something that would not take shape no matter how often it returned.
