Malakhiel's visit only made the holding claim tighter.
Training slowed. Movement narrowed. Attendants came and went with more formal language and less patience. The nine could feel the pressure of the House settling over the corridors, as though even the walls waited for a cleaner decision than temporary custody and contested residual force. Zeus spent the quiet intervals holding the chaos in his skin in place, not calling it up, not giving Malakhiel or Sera proof fresh.
The next change did not come as another bloodline authority.
It came as a record-bearer.
The outer marks opened for a figure in layered gray, face half-veiled by thin Continuum script that shifted when looked at directly. No dominion weight like Malakhiel. No extraction hunger like Sera. No residual familiarity like Tohu. This presence felt like shelves and locked rooms, like someone who entered only when information had become unavoidable.
Jehovah recognized the type at once. "Veiled Eye."
