Behind him, the expressions of his loyal soldiers shifted into grim discomfort. Tension crept into their stances. Their eyes flicked not toward the scroll—but toward the looming presence that had silently emerged behind their lord.
Unseen.
Unheard.
The Blood Fang Lord.
He had appeared without a sound, stepping into their midst like a phantom of slaughter. His crimson robes shimmered with threads of gold, and the air around him seemed to hum with latent violence.
No one spoke.
No one dared breathe too loudly.
Without a word, the Blood Fang Lord reached out and snatched the scroll from Riverfall Lord's frozen hands.
The golden decree rustled softly as he unrolled it.
Silence stretched thin—thinner—until it nearly snapped.
And then, even the Blood Fang Lord faltered.
His crimson pupils dilated, and a flicker of disbelief broke through the impassive mask he always wore. His lips parted slightly, and for the first time in decades, his composure cracked.
He read it twice.
