From his chamber window, moments after the crash, when chaos had erupted in the courtyard and guards were shouting into comms, he had seen a faint shadow slip out of the wreck. Not fall, but descend. It was controlled, slow, and steady. Like someone hovering on invisible strings.
And when the barrier broke, that same figure had vanished into the castle walls.
No one else noticed. No one even suspected.
Now, as he sat among these so-called leaders and strategists, Luther's jaw clenched. The others were too busy arguing over "procedure" and "reports," too content with their half-measures.
He rose slowly from his seat, his cape dragging faintly over the marble. The few remaining voices fell silent.
"Pathetic," Luther muttered. His voice wasn't loud—but it carried, sharp enough to cut through the air. "Every one of you."
Heads turned. The room tensed.
