On his fifty-seventh draw, something changed in the air of the Void Palace. The usual eerie blue light seemed to hold its breath, as if reality itself was waiting.
Northern's fingers tingled where they touched Stainless's hilt.
That sensation he'd been chasing was closer now, hovering just at the edge of his understanding like a word on the tip of his tongue.
"Not yet. There's something more."
His fifty-eighth draw came smoother than water.
His fifty-ninth, quieter than thought.
Each attempt brought him closer to... something. Something fundamental.
Bairan stood motionless, his white hair perfectly still in the windless palace. His eyes betrayed a growing tension, like a man watching the horizon just before dawn breaks.
On the sixtieth draw, Northern felt it—a whisper of understanding that made his heart skip a beat. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he resheathed Stainless.
"One more time."
