The tea had cooled, but its strange fragrance still lingered in the air—herbal, crisp, tinged with something floral that no ordinary flower could match.
Athos sat back in his chair, his cup resting beside a half-unrolled scroll, while Argolaith stood by the arched window, watching the morning sunlight break over the rooftops of Seminah.
Kaelred had wandered off somewhere between the second cup and a comment about "books not biting back." Malakar lingered near the entrance, flipping through a tome bound in shadow-threaded vellum, silent and watchful as always.
Thae'Zirak had curled up on the windowsill like a cat, tail swaying lazily as he observed the passing clouds.
Only Argolaith and Athos remained locked in a silence that spoke far louder than any conversation.
Finally, Argolaith broke it.
"I know now," he said. "That I wasn't just left here by chance. That you knew something… about me. About what I was."
Athos didn't look surprised.
He never did.
