[House Karzath — Later — The Same Morning]
The halls of House Karzath did not tremble easily, but that morning They did.
Rakhane walked through them like a storm given flesh.
His presence did not merely arrive—it spread. Dark pheromones coiled outward from him, thick, suffocating, laced with something corrosive. The very air seemed to recoil.
Attendants dropped to their knees before he even reached them. Some did not dare breathe.
Others could not, because what moved through those halls was not a noble. It was wrath.
SLAM—!!!
The doors of his chamber crashed open against the stone. Inside, Serath Min stood by the window, unbothered. Smoke curled lazily from his fingers, the scent sharp, intoxicating—poison refined into indulgence. Morning light cut across his figure, but it did not soften him.
It outlined him, like something that did not belong to the day.
