Michael froze.
The voice was calm, steady, and unmistakably belonged to the old man beside him.
Do not bow.
Michael's brow tightened slightly, but he did not argue. The old man had not bowed either. Given his rank, that much made sense.
More importantly, Michael trusted that the old man knew better than to put him in danger for no reason.
So he stayed still.
Below, the royal elf's gaze swept across the field, composed and observant. It lingered briefly on the Sanctuary supervisor, then shifted toward the hovering figures near her.
Her eyes paused for the faintest moment.
There.
Michael felt it.
Even concealed, it was as if her gaze brushed past him without truly seeing him, yet still acknowledged that something was there.
A faint smile curved her lips.
Though the old man's expression remained relaxed, almost indifferent, there was nothing casual about the thoughts moving beneath it.
