The lingering winter chill, mixed with spring breeze, passed through the vents and entered the secret chamber.
The candle flame began to sway.
The charcoal in the firepit let out a crisp crackle.
Dieudonne Hamlet picked up a piece of charcoal with tongs and tossed it into the firepit. With a loud pop, the sparks erupted and rolled up.
A screen of sparks and ashes.
At this moment, in Pistri Hamlet's eyes, his brother's face became blurred.
But he didn't have the usual fear and retreat.
Instead, he mimicked Arthur in his mind, displaying a smile that was neither entirely amused nor offended—he wanted to imitate his father, but the Old Lion's majesty filled this Young Lion with terror; the mere thought made him tremble, rendering any imitation impossible.
It was different with Arthur.
The Young Lion's fear of Arthur had long transformed into a sense of security through the signing of numerous contracts.
A security with support above and behind him.
