Alaric exhaled softly. The rising steam from his porcelain teacup wreathed his face in fleeting silver.
Morning light pooled across the polished floor of his chamber, reflecting off the inlaid runes like rivers of brilliance flowing over ancient stone.
He sat reclined in a high-backed chair, one leg crossed lazily over the other, the collar of his dark tunic undone. Loose. Relaxed.
The rich, earthy scent of brewed leaf lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of divine resonance that suffused this mansion—his mansion—nested deep within the Crydias estate.
"It's far too peaceful,"
he murmured,
"for a man with a thousand plans."
His gaze shifted to the elegant double doors leading to the Divine Castle—the name the girls had unanimously given to the miraculous inner dimension born from his Divine Heart Core. The door stood still, but he knew the chaos beyond it was anything but quiet.
