The night after the diplomatic ball did not end when the music faded.
It followed Vahn back to his assigned sovereign quarters aboard the imperial flagship, clinging to him like a second presence that refused to be dismissed. The corridors of the Elyndor diplomatic ring were silent, sealed under hospitality protocols that felt more like clinical observation than welcome.
The guards were polite enough not to intrude, yet powerful enough to ensure that the very concept of intrusion was rendered physically impossible by the density of the law-fields they projected.
Vahn dismissed his escort at the threshold of the guest suite. His movements were mechanical, his mind elsewhere.
The doors closed soundlessly behind him.
The chamber was austere. Elegant, yes, but intentionally so. Elyndor did not decorate for comfort. It prepared spaces for reflection, for endurance, for those accustomed to carrying weight without complaint.
Vahn stood in the center of the room and did nothing.
