[The Following Morning — High Mage Arkhazunn's Residence — Zahryssar]
Morning arrived quietly; golden sunlight slipped through embroidered curtains. The candles had long since burned themselves into pools of hardened wax. Half-empty wine bottles remained scattered across the table like casualties of a forgotten battle.
The fire within the hearth had died into faint red embers, and silence ruled the chamber. Varesh had not slept, not for a single moment. He remained exactly where he had been throughout the night, trapped between Arkhazunn's arms.
The High Mage's embrace had never loosened; even in sleep, those arms remained wrapped around his waist, caging him gently against a warm chest.
As though afraid he might disappear, as though afraid he might leave. Varesh stared at the ceiling, his eyes burning and his body aching. Yet none of it compared to the heaviness inside his chest.
