[House Veyrhold—The Next Day—Departure]
Morning did not arrive gently. It came with a pale, muted light—soft across the stone walls of Veyrhold, yet carrying a weight that could not be ignored.
The estate stood in stillness. Outside, the imperial carriage stood prepared. Its structure gleamed beneath the early light, draped in deep silks and marked unmistakably with the crest of Zahryssar.
The serpent insignia caught the wind—flowing like water across the air alive. Zahryssar guards stood in formation—silent, disciplined, and unmoving.
Waiting.
Everything was ready, and yet no one rushed, because departures like these were never hurried. They were… endured. Levin stood at the front steps of Veyrhold still and composed.
But not untouched before him—Duke Aren, not as the Duke and not as a lord of the empire, but as a father.
Levin stepped forward, and for a moment he allowed himself to close the distance; he embraced him, not tightly, not desperately but firmly.
