The observation chamber had fallen silent.
Not in awe.
In analysis.
Every scout, every mage, every contractor now sat motionless, screens dimmed to a low glow, their eyes not on data—but on memory. Replaying what they'd just seen.
Velvetin's voice came first—quiet, but sharp with amusement.
"Well."
A soft hum. "I suppose you were watching her this time."
Leonard didn't respond.
His gaze remained on the main feed, where the last echoes of golden glyphs still faded from the scorched platforms.
His fingers were loose at his side, but his grip on control was absolute.
Sylvie.
She hadn't hesitated once.
Not even when the formation collapsed.
Not when her mana strained.
Not when she pushed beyond the standard support role she'd been buried in for months.
He felt it then—not as a scout, not as an observer.
As a brother.
A brief, quiet pulse of pride.
Small.
Contained.
But undeniable.
And yet—
He heard the murmurs now spreading across the rows.
"That archer…"
