Alaric led Auralyne into the courtyard.
He said nothing along the way.
The morning air hung cool and weightless, thick with silence yet brimming with purpose. Light streamed through the high arches above, bathing the white-stone path in soft gold.
The courtyard was vast, encircled by flowering trees and crystalline lanterns, untouched by wind or idle sound.
He walked ahead with steady steps and sat down upon a simple chair near the center—neither throne nor bench, but a seat carved of pale stone and divine aura, meant for reflection, not rule.
His gaze was fixed to the east, toward the distant spires beyond the veil of mountains. The silence lingered.
Then, without looking back, his voice drifted like a quiet decree:
"They will come tonight."
Auralyne stood behind him, still. Listening.
"You will guide them through the path that glows,"
He continued,
"after everyone is asleep."
His voice carried no weight of doubt. Only certainty, veiled in calm.
