The morning air in the capital was cold and sharp. It lacked the warm, inviting scent of roasted nuts and sweet bread that had filled the festival just a day ago. Instead, the Solaris courtyard smelled of polished iron, leather, and nervous sweat.
Kairos stood near the tall stone pillars of the palace gates, resting his hand on the hilt of Asteria. He crept his thumb over the smooth leather grip, his thoughts drifting back to the day Seyana had given it to him. It wasn't just a weapon. It was a royal heirloom, a gift of trust, and a silent confession of her belief in him. When she placed it in his hands, she had looked at him not as a village boy, but as a hero.
