High Elder Elara did not blink, her silver eyes remaining fixed on Kai with the weight of centuries of vigilance.
The air in the pavilion was thick with the scent of crushed petals and ancient wood, a stark, suffocating contrast to the crisp, autumn-bitten air that Kai's aura had forced into the clearing.
She did not rise from her throne of white vines, but her grip on the gnarled wooden staff tightened, causing the emerald leaves intertwined with its grain to pulse with a warning, rhythmic light.
"The Ashen Syndicate is not merely an army, Winter Sovereign," Elara said, her voice dropping into a low, rumbling timbre that seemed to resonate through the floorboards of the pavilion.
