The auction hall dimmed in preparation for its second act, but behind the grand obsidian stage—veiled in runes and dampening wards—there was a stillness not of silence, but of exhalation.
Aurevia sat on the edge of a velvet-cushioned bench, her veil now lowered, revealing her pale, composed features. Her crimson eyes still shimmered faintly with residual frost, but there was no tension in her body.
Only grace—and exhaustion veiled beneath discipline.
"You looked like a priestess of frost and judgment out there,"
Cellione said with a grin, her golden hair tied in a loose braid, the ends singed slightly from the earlier mana transfer arrays.
Serineth leaned forward, her green hair casting soft shadows over her blue eyes.
"Everyone out there thought you were just another slave. Until you turned the hall into a glacier."
"And you kept your voice calm the entire time."
