Lord Vance looked at the Empress, then at the massive alpha standing at her side, and finally at the quiet scholar who was already picking up his ink-stained papers with a calm efficiency. The suffocating, humid air of the ruined council chamber seemed to grow heavier as the raw reality of what had just occurred fully registered in the diplomat's mind.
The silver-veined orchid vines hung like ancient, prehistoric ropes from the shattered limestone pillars, their leaves dripping with a thick, iridescent violet sap that smelled intensely of wild lavender and concentrated starlight. It was not a weapon that had destroyed the room; it was simply the unguided, overflowing vitality of two children who carried the unchained bloodlines of the new North. A slow, respectful breath escaped the diplomat's chest, his rich, southern silk robes torn at the hem where the silver clover had aggressively taken root.
