The courtyard was frozen in silence, as if the world itself feared to breathe. Only the wind stirred, tossing dust and ash through the air, carrying the memory of a power that had just erased existence.
Yurei hadn't moved.
She stood among the crowd of disciples, cloaked in the shadow of a column. No one noticed her. No one saw how her fingers trembled, how she fought the urge to step forward. Her eyes were fixed on a single point.
Rhaegar's head.
It lay there, abandoned on the stones like a discarded object. A trophy. A warning.
Kaen's words still echoed in her ears. His voice had been like a cold wind on a sweltering afternoon. Alien. Absolute. Irrevocable.
But that wasn't what had shaken her most.
It was the reaction of the Elders. Of the Sect Master.
Gratitude.
Bow-headed farewells, shameful murmurs, the rot of submission spilled across marble tiles. A man had walked in, thrown them the head of their own disciple—and been seen off with relief.
