The silence that followed Jolthar's reply felt like a rope pulled taut between titans—one wrong twitch, and the whole hall could snap.
The Emperor did not move for several moments. His gaze bore into Jolthar with the intensity of a smith judging raw iron, deciding whether it would bend into a blade or shatter on the anvil. Jolthar felt the weight of that scrutiny, heavy as the sky, yet he did not bow, did not lower his eyes, did not even shift his stance.
The Emperor exhaled slowly.
"Hmph. A dangerous answer."
His voice rumbled across the marble like distant thunder rolling over mountains.
Jolthar didn't respond. He simply stood there—unyielding, eyes steady, chin lifted just enough to show confidence but not arrogance, though that line was razor-thin.
Beside the throne, Yssandra's smile grew.
Good, her eyes seemed to say.
Don't break.
