The Myrrhvale mansion rose before them. Nyssara led the small procession with silent grace, her robes flowing like waves behind her. Trafalgar followed at a measured distance, his expression calm but unreadable. Zafira walked beside him, one hand holding the little girl's trembling fingers. The guard trailed last, eyes fixed on the marble floor, his pride coiled into his jaw like a knot that refused to loosen.
As they entered the grand hall, a figure appeared at the far end of the corridor. Lyren, dressed in light robes, looked up from the set of scrolls he carried. The surprise in his eyes was immediate.
"Mother?" he said, blinking once. "I didn't expect you here tonight."
Nyssara's tone was smooth, her authority natural. "A matter of honor, my son. Nothing more."
His gaze shifted between Trafalgar and the guard, then to the small girl hiding behind Zafira's robes. "A matter of… honor?"
