The castle corridors stretched endlessly, their grandeur doing little to lift the weight that pressed against my chest. Each step I took felt heavier, a reminder of the strain building in my cursed eye. My fingers grazed the patch that hid Erebron from the world, the leather warm against my skin. The faint hum of mana around me pulsed like a second heartbeat, subtle yet constant.
I reached the chamber where Father was supposed to be, hoping for clarity or direction. But instead of his commanding presence, I found Luvelia. She turned to face me as though she'd been waiting, her soft features illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the tall windows.
"Milo," she said, her voice like a melody dipped in honey. "Your father is with the emperor, discussing the Brithuel harvest."
I nodded silently, though my disappointment must have been evident. She gestured toward a chair. "Sit with me for a moment."
