The grand banquet hall of Valkoron still shimmered with celebration, though something beneath its brilliance had begun to fracture.
Music continued to rise in elegant, flowing waves from the royal musicians seated along the far archway, each note carefully measured to preserve the illusion of perfection.
Laughter echoed beneath crystal chandeliers that scattered light across gilded walls, turning even the smallest movement into something that looked intentional, curated, and safe.
Nobles still drifted through clusters of conversation like floating pieces on a polished board, exchanging pleasantries, political smiles, and empty courtesies as though the world beyond the palace doors had not shifted at all.
Yet for those observant enough, they'd notice that the air around the throne dais felt different—it felt heavier, charged, like the calm before a great storm.
Valerian sat through it all like a man holding back the sky.
