The heavy iron doors of the inner sanctum didn't even wait for Ashe to touch them.
Deep within the metal, ancient wards hummed, recognizing the undeniable resonance of the Razar bloodline drawing near. Ashe had grown up with this silent deference, but to Vane, it felt entirely different today. His hand was firmly wrapped in hers, his own foreign signature intertwined with hers, yet the doors didn't hesitate. They didn't care who else stood on the threshold. They felt her, and they parted.
They stepped inside together.
Varian was already there. He sat against the far wall, having naturally claimed the single vantage point that kept solid stone at his back and the entirety of the room within his sightline. His hands rested loosely in his lap. He was doing absolutely nothing, which was exactly how Varian executed tasks that were actually everything. As they crossed the threshold, his amber eyes flicked to Vane, drifted to Ashe, and finally dropped to their joined hands.
