---
That same night, on the other side of Slik City, the Iron House forgot how to breathe properly. The first sign was not sound.
It was pressure. Not the pressure of a god. Not even close.
But the pressure of importance announced correctly and obeyed quickly enough that everyone beneath it felt smaller before they fully understood why. The outer guards along the Iron House estate walls straightened one after another as the black-lined carriage rolled through the avenue approach with two escort beasts pacing alongside it like silent, armored threats.
The carriage itself did not look extravagant at first glance.
