The howling midnight wind on the Inner Citadel’s high marble terrace carried the sharp cold of the desert winter. Torches flickered along the battlements, casting long, dancing shadows.
Azhred stood alone beside the balustrade, swirling a goblet of southern wine. His silver aura had faded, pressed beneath a dark, ancient cloak. He did not look back when that familiar dragging sound echoed across the stone slabs.
Tair stepped out from the shadows of the arched passage; his right metal brace scraped against the marble, his lifeless arm resting heavily against his ribs. A black leather band concealed his right eye, while his single left eye reflected the cold moonlight.
“You’ve been in the vaults for three days, Orun-Khar,” Azhred said; his voice was lowered, stripped of its usual golden warmth. He turned, his amber eyes locking onto Tair’s pale, blood-stained face. “The northern Varduns whisper that you are running a second government beneath my feet. They say Eldren and the black-market barons answer to your seal, not mine.”
Tair remained unmoved. He leaned upon his wooden staff, his breath shallow and dry with damaged sounds. “The Varduns... want your gold, Azhred. They do not... want your laws.”
Azhred stepped closer; the faint silver light of his noble blood hummed uneasily beneath his skin. “That is not what troubles me.”
He stopped two steps from Tair, his gaze becoming an unblinking stare. “How did you know Commander Kuçar sold our schedule to Varok before it reached the messenger box? How did you know Kara-Korvaş poisoned the wine before a single drop was spilled? You are not merely calculating probabilities, Tair. You act with the confidence of a man who has watched the end of the world and restarted it.”
Tair’s obsidian ring struck once against his thumb—a cold, subdermal warning.
Chrono-Anchor Diagnostics: ASTRA
NEURAL COST: 46%
TEMPORAL INTEGRITY: Stable