Asmodeus left the administrative wing without another word.
The hallway outside was still. Torchlight flickered against the stone, but most of the inner staff had retired for the evening. No voices. No footfalls. Just the low groan of shifting beams somewhere above—a sign that the north side was still settling.
He made his way through the corridor leading toward the forge yard. He didn't rush. There was no reason to.
The air shifted as he passed through the arch—warmer here, heavy with ash and oil. The blacksmiths were still working despite the hour, but it wasn't chaotic. Two anvils rang in steady rhythm. A half-finished wyvern harness lay across a rack nearby. A younger demon boy nodded to him without speaking, face streaked with soot.
Asmodeus nodded back, just once, then moved on.
