[Silthara Palace — Emperor's Office Chamber]
The emperor's office was lit with sunlight.
Their flames burned low and steady, casting long shadows across the carved stone walls where ancient serpent sigils coiled from floor to ceiling. Outside, the desert lay silent, but inside the chamber the air felt heavy, as if something unseen watched from every corner.
Zeramet sat behind the obsidian desk, several parchments spread before him.
Reports from the western border. Records of the vault. Letters from the noble houses.
His golden eyes moved across the ink without hurry, his fingers resting lightly against the table as if nothing in the world could disturb his calm.
Then his breath stopped, only for a moment. His fingers tightened slightly on the parchment, the faintest crease forming beneath his hand.
His heart had skipped.
No.
Not skipped, beaten harder.
Once.
Twice.
