The courtyard lay in heavy silence, broken only by the faint rustle of wind through the shattered glass and the labored breathing of the fallen man at its center.
The Absolutes stood in a loose half-circle, their expressions a fractured mosaic of emotion, some etched with cold displeasure, others burning with open hatred, and a few carrying something softer, almost mournful, that they refused to name.
Arthur stepped forward first, his longsword sheathed at his waist, hand resting lightly on the pommel.
His voice came out calm, measured, the way a blade rests in its scabbard before it's drawn.
"What brings you here, Sabbah?"
Sabbah pushed himself upright, slow and deliberate, every movement costing him pain.
Blood smeared the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained steady.
"To get my daughter," he answered, voice rough but calm. "That's all."
