[Silthara Palace — Zahryssar — The Return]
The gates of Silthara did not open easily; they yielded. Massive stone doors carved with ancient serpents began to shift—slow, deliberate, and heavy enough that the very air seemed to bend with them.
A deep sound echoed across the courtyard, not a welcome, a recognition. Beyond them—the imperial carriage approached.
Black and gold. Marked unmistakably with the crest of Zahryssar.
The Red Knights were already in formation. Rows upon rows of Zahryssar soldiers stood aligned along the palace steps, their armor catching the sun like sharpened scales. Silent, unmoving, and watching.
Because their Malik had returned.
The carriage slowed, then stopped. For a moment nothing moved, and then—the door opened. Zeramet stepped out first.
He simply emerged—and the air changed. His long silver hair fell freely down his back, catching light like pale fire. His golden eyes swept once across the courtyard—not searching, not curious, measuring.
