The silence of the upper palace was a jarring contrast to the chaotic, heated symphony of the Crystal Bazaar. As Vera and Kassian ascended the sapphire stairs, the air turned thin and clinical again, smelling of ancient frost and stagnant power. But the cold no longer felt like a stabilizer to Vera; it felt like an intrusion. In her mouth, the taste of "Liquid Moonlight" lingered, and on her skin, the scorching ghost of Kassian's touch burned brighter than any Northern sun.
Vera walked with a new, fluid confidence. Her copper hair was a wild crown, and her emerald eyes were no longer neutral—they were filled with a dark, satisfied fire. Beside her, Kassian looked like a god reborn. The silver-white glow of his veins pulsed in a steady, healthy rhythm. He walked with the swagger of a man who had not only survived a miracle but had conquered it.
