The palace gates did not open with ceremony.
There were no heralds, no formal announcements, no procession that marked the arrival of something worthy of spectacle, and yet the moment the guards shifted and the ironbound doors parted just enough to permit entry, a subtle tension passed through the air like a current that could not be seen but was unmistakably felt, as though the space itself recognized that what approached did not belong entirely to either side of the threshold.
The Temple envoy entered first.
Unhurried.
Measured.
Clad in robes that bore no insignia of rank yet carried an authority that required no declaration, his presence defined not by dominance, but by inevitability, as though the act of arrival itself fulfilled a function rather than initiated one.
Behind him—
Silvain followed.
Not led.
Not restrained.
But not entirely free either.
