The first light of dawn spilled through the curtains in soft, golden streams, warming the floorboards of the underground home. Azreal's eyes flickered open to the muted hum of morning outside. He sat up, running a hand through his hair, then moved quietly to the sink, brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face. The shock of it grounded him — but as he dried his hands, a faint noise drifted through the walls. Voices. Many of them.
It wasn't just chatter. It was a crowd.
Azreal's brow furrowed. He slipped into his coat, stepped out of his room, and found Eric and Fredrick already standing in the hallway, tense and alert.
Both men dipped their heads respectfully.
"Good morning, my lord," they said in unison.
Azreal's voice was low but sharp. "What's that noise I'm hearing? It's coming from outside."
Eric shook his head. "I have no idea. I was just about to take a look."
Fredrick straightened, his tone clipped. "Then let's go."
