The sound of paper ceased before the movement of the hands finished.
Dry.
Controlled.
The long table of dark wood cut across the center of the room like a line of division — not between sides, but between positions.
Light filtered through the tall windows. No excess. Only function.
The inspector closed the set of documents with precision, aligning the edges with the tips of his fingers before releasing them onto the table.
The sound was low.
Enough.
Behind him—
motionless—
the knight in black armor.
The inspector's eyes lifted.
Slow.
They met Brianna.
"Then…"
The voice came clean, unhurried.
"during the last two months, you acted as provisional leader."
No accusation in the tone.
Only record
"And, a week ago…"
A slight pause, measured.
"not only appointed a new lord…"
The fingers lightly touched the top of the closed documents.
"but used the neutrality of this region…"
His eyes did not leave her.
"to raise the status of the County to a Marquisate."
Silence.
No movement around the table.
Heron remained seated.
Posture straight.
Hands resting, still.
Observing.
He did not interfere.
Phoebe—
quiet, hands resting on her lap, head slightly inclined, as if listening… beyond them.
Brianna did not answer immediately.
The cup was already in her hands before the speech had even finished.
The gesture was natural.
Unhurried.
She brought it to her lips.
A short sip.
Measured.
The sound of porcelain touching the table again was almost nonexistent.
Only then—
her eyes lifted.
"Exactly as you said, Inspector."
The voice came firm. It did not rise.
Her fingers rested at the side of the cup.
"And I assume you did not find, in any of these documents…"
A slight pause.
"a single point that contradicts imperial regulations."
There was no open provocation.
But there was no retreat either.
The inspector did not respond immediately.
His gaze remained on her for a moment longer.
Measuring not the words.
But the absence of hesitation.
Then—
a minimal movement at the corner of his mouth.
Not a smile.
Recognition.
"No."
He inclined his head slightly.
"Technically…"
A short pause.
"everything is… in compliance."
His fingers slid over the table.
Documents pushed aside.
Closed.
Not resolved.
"Which makes the situation…"
His eyes fixed again.
"particularly interesting."
The air in the room did not change.
But the margin between the two… diminished.
"Because decisions of this magnitude are rarely made…"
"without someone being willing to bear consequences."
Silence.
Brianna did not look away.
"Consequences are not avoided."
The answer came unhurried.
"They are anticipated."
An instant.
"And, when necessary…"
Her eyes remained on him.
"assumed."
The inspector held her gaze.
One second.
Two.
Behind him, the knight in black armor did not move.
But something minimal—
in the alignment of the body.
fell out of the room's rhythm, almost imperceptibly.
Phoebe tilted her head one degree.
As if she had felt it.
The inspector then leaned back slightly in his chair.
Nothing relaxed.
Just… comfortable enough to continue.
"In that case…"
His eyes still on Brianna.
"you must already understand… the scope of those projections."
Silence.
No one moved.
Phoebe inhaled.
Almost imperceptible.
Her hands remained on her lap.
But the angle of her head changed.
One degree.
Enough.
"That's enough."
The voice was not loud.
But it crossed the table without effort.
There was no impatience.
No irritation.
Only… decision.
Her face remained forward.
"We are not here for titles."
A short pause.
"Nor for successions…"
The air in the room seemed to adjust.
As if something had been named… too late to be avoided.
Phoebe then shifted the axis.
Subtle.
Precise.
Her presence turned.
toward the inspector.
"You did not cross half the imperial territory for a decree you have already reviewed."
No accusation.
No open challenge.
Only… fact.
One second of silence.
The inspector did not answer.
Not immediately.
The chair slid back without haste.
The sound of wood against marble was low.
Controlled.
He stood.
Without tension.
Like someone who did not need to dispute space to occupy it.
He took a few steps to the window.
Stopped.
His hands clasped behind his back.
The light touched the contour of his face — not enough to soften.
Only to mark.
"Always so precise…"
A short pause.
Almost a breath.
"Saint Phoebe."
The title carried no reverence.
But it was not open contempt either.
Something in between.
More dangerous.
Phoebe did not move.
No gesture.
No answer.
Only—
a silence that did not yield.
He inclined his head slightly.
"Forgive me."
He said.
Without turning.
"For a moment…"
"I forgot I speak before a marchioness."
He watched the exterior.
Or pretended.
"They knew."
A short pause.
"Since the emergence of the gods…"
"And the rise of the twenty-four imperial thrones…"
The voice continued, measured.
"the world has been governed by an order…"
A pause.
"that no man dares to challenge."
Another.
Smaller.
"And few gods… even attempt to."
Now there was something.
Subtle.
"Even so…"
He breathed.
Light.
"some have begun to test the limits."
He turned.
Slowly.
"Men descending into the Abyss."
"Returning… altered."
His eyes passed over the table.
One by one.
Unhurried.
"This was tolerated."
"While it remained small."
One step.
Approaching the table.
"Controllable."
A short pause.
"Until someone crossed the line."
He advanced another.
"I believe everyone in this room…"
"knows the old prophecy of Odin."
A brief interval.
"About those who would emerge from the Abyss."
He stopped.
His hand touched the wood.
Light.
But the sound—
echoed.
"Two months ago…"
His voice lowered.
"something drew the attention of the thrones."
His eyes did not waver.
"A disturbance."
Another silence.
"And, for the first time in years…"
The voice remained controlled.
"the old prophecy began to resonate again."
The air in the room tightened.
"Not by belief…"
"by consequence."
A slight pause.
"This disturbance… occurred during the territorial war."
No emphasis.
No doubt.
"Someone did not merely touch the Abyss…"
His hand moved.
"opened a path."
The sound was light.
But definitive.
"And something…"
The inspector pressed the table.
"walked this world."
His eyes passed over everyone.
Stopped.
"Marquis…"
"I want to know if you understand."
A pause.
"Decisions were made."
"And consequences… have already begun."
The silence tightened.
Brianna inhaled.
"Insp—"
"Lady Brianna."
The interruption came low.
Unhurried.
But absolute.
"I fear this point…"
A slight pause.
"has already surpassed the scope of your administration."
There was no accusation.
No direct confrontation.
Only… delimitation.
His eyes moved.
Stopped.
"Marquis."
The air in the room seemed to give one degree.
"Tell me…"
A short pause.
"what, in fact, occurred."
Heron did not move.
The voice came steady.
"I believe you already know…"
A short pause.
"that there was no closeness between father and son."
His eyes remained on him.
"We share blood."
An instant.
"Nothing beyond that."
Another pause.
"And blood…"
His voice lowered.
"does not grant knowledge."
The inspector did not respond immediately.
His gaze remained on Heron.
Measuring.
"That does not change the essential."
A pause.
"If the emperor understands that what occurred demands a response…"
the voice did not rise
"it will be given."
His eyes did not move.
"Neutral lands exist."
"While they remember…"
His voice lowered.
"where authority resides."
Another silence.
"The empire does not react to what challenges it."
"It corrects."
Short.
"And everything that stands in the way of its order…"
A minimal pause.
"is treated as such."
Heron did not look away.
"That approaches… a declaration."
A short pause.
"Of war."
The silence did not yield.
The inspector held his gaze for a moment.
Then—
a minimal movement at the corner of his mouth.
Not a smile.
"War…"
The word came low.
"is a… generous term."
A slow step.
"It requires balance."
Another pause.
"Two sides capable of imposing themselves."
His eyes remained on him.
"When there is not…"
His voice lowered.
"it is not called war."
An instant.
"It is called correction."
Short.
"An example."
His hand rested on the table.
"Warning."
Heron held his gaze.
"Even so…"
A short pause
"I do not possess the answers you seek."
His eyes did not move.
"And I will not assert what I cannot sustain."
The inspector remained silent for a moment.
A slight inclination of the head.
"It is… a shame."
The voice carried no frustration.
Only observation.
"Some titles suggest more than they can sustain."
A short pause.
"But even they recognize…"
"when they stand before something greater."
His eyes remained on him.
"And act accordingly."
The inspector stepped away from the table.
Unhurried.
"As it seems…"
A slight pause.
"there is nothing more to address here."
His hand adjusted the glove slightly.
A simple gesture.
"I will prepare my return."
He began to move.
The second step did not complete.
The cut came before.
Dry.
Clean.
The head separated from the body without enough sound to be called a strike.
The body still advanced half a step.
Then fell.
Silence.
Only then—
the sound of metal.
Late.
Irreversible.
Brianna was the first to move.
Not by reaction.
The body arrived before understanding.
The chair slid back.
Too late.
Heron came right after.
Already standing—
before the decision.
Between the table—
and Phoebe.
The knight did not advance.
Nor retreat.
The blade remained in his hand.
Too long.
As if the gesture had not yet finished.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Only then—
the metal left his fingers.
Met the ground with a low, irrelevant sound.
Without haste, he brought his hands to the helmet and removed it.
Short hair emerged — silver, with long, disordered strands that fell to the nape and partially over the eyes, reflecting the soft light like fragments of crystallized snow.
The face: pale skin, almost translucent, as if the energy that corroded him from within could break free at any moment.
But it was the eyes that held everyone in the room — crimson, burning like living embers, an inhuman flame.
There was no tension in his expression.
No haste.
Only a serenity that did not belong to that room.
He raised his gaze.
Direct.
To Phoebe.
"How long…"
A short pause.
"Tiresias."
The name was not spoken as discovery.
But as return.
His eyes remained on her.
"I thought you had abandoned… this form."
The silence that followed was not empty.
Phoebe did not stand.
Her hands still resting on her lap.
Her head slightly inclined.
As if she already knew.
Or as if… that was not a deviation.
"I thought you were… contained in Tartarus."
The voice did not rise.
The knight watched her for a moment.
a slight inclination of the head.
Almost satisfied.
"I was."
A short pause.
"For longer than most would endure."
His eyes did not move.
"But, as you might imagine…"
"prisons do not withstand reckless hands."
The voice carried no irritation.
"In a small war… for even smaller reasons."
"they were enough."
His eyes briefly passed over the room.
Returned to her.
"To open… a fissure."
"And I found… the path."
Phoebe held his gaze.
"Clarify."
The word came low.
Unhurried.
But it was not a request.
The knight did not respond immediately.
He simply watched her.
He moved without haste.
Pulled the chair.
Sat.
As if the room already belonged to him.
His hands rested in a relaxed manner.
But not careless.
"Tell me, Tiresias…"
His voice lowered.
"do you truly believe I would cross the Abyss…"
An instant.
"to satisfy… someone else's curiosity?"
His eyes did not yield.
"Or do you intend to convince me…"
A slight pause
"that you still possess the authority to demand answers?"
One second of silence.
"Because, if you do…"
The voice remained calm.
"I suggest you begin by demonstrating it."
The silence settled.
Dense. Measured.
Brianna moved — not abrupt, but enough.
"I don't know who you are…"
The voice came firm.
Controlled.
"nor what you intend."
Her eyes did not leave his.
"But what you just did…"
"demands an answer."
Something moved around her.
Subtle at first. Then — visible.
Green filaments emerged from her, thin as veins exposed to air, coiling around her body with almost living precision.
Slow. Controlled.
The air around seemed to recoil — not by force, but by rejection.
The knight did not react immediately.
He only shifted his gaze — a minimal gesture, almost disinterested.
The crimson eyes met hers.
And remained.
Unhurried. Without tension.
As if that were nothing new.
"Your words carry weight…"
The voice came low.
"but still lack reach."
The filaments tightened a little more around Brianna.
Denser. More defined.
She did not retreat.
"And your actions have just condemned this marquisate."
Silence.
He watched her for a moment.
A breath of air escaped — without enough sound to be called a laugh.
"Condemned?"
The word came light.
He inclined his head slightly, his eyes still on her.
"This place was already condemned."
A short pause.
"I merely made it visible."
The silence between them ceased to be political.
It was structural.
Two wills, measuring space.
Without intermediaries.
The filaments vibrated — almost imperceptibly.
But did not advance.
Not by control.
By recognition.