The silver radiance of a bloated moon spilled across the marble expanse of the palace balcony, casting long, skeletal shadows toward the jagged horizon. Below, the capital of Astraia lay in a state of restless slumber, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic clanging of the foundries that never truly slept. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine needles and the faint, lingering ozone of the Essence battle that had occurred only hours prior within the Prince’s private chambers. Constantine stood by the stone balustrade, his hands resting lightly on the cold surface. He had washed the trace of the assassin’s blood from his skin, but the dark intensity in his gaze remained as sharp as a newly forged blade.
Behind him, the heavy glass doors creaked open. Two silhouettes stepped into t
