The heavy silence was broken.
Alaric spoke—not loudly, but the sound cut through the chamber like a blade through silk.
"Caldrith,"
He said, voice unshaken, sovereign.
"Stand up. You two as well."
The three kneeling figures flinched slightly. The air hadn't lessened its weight—but his words gave them motion. They rose slowly, careful not to overstep, but unwilling to remain groveling once permission had been given.
They stood—barely steady, still reverent.
Then came Alaric's voice again, colder this time, like truth unadorned.
"Before we begin… let me make one thing absolutely clear."
His eyes—though veiled in shadow—felt like they pierced bone.
"I do not trust any of you."
There was no softness in his tone. No diplomacy. Just fact.
Caldrith bowed his head again—not out of fear, but deference.
"Lord Aurelian… I don't know how I'll earn your trust,"
He said, voice heavy, but honest.
"But if you are willing… then I am willing—willing to become your slave."
