Silence engulfed the room.
Not the normal kind - not the polite pause after a heavy statement. This was the kind that made the lantern flames feel too bright, the breaths feel too loud, and the wooden walls feel too close.
Anathema.
Raizen had heard the word in stories and briefing before. In the way veterans and Vanguards spat it out like a curse. In the way Solomon never used it unless he had to.
But hearing it here, in this small room full of photos and memories, made it feel wrong.
Atman didn't speak.
He didn't laugh, or argue, or try to soften it with warmth. His mouth didn't even try to open and say something, like he has done before.
His knees buckled a fraction, and he stumbled into the nearest chair as if his body had suddenly remembered gravity.
The wood creaked under him.
The smoke around his forearm tightened once, then thinned completely - like it didn't know whether to defend the room or flee.
Elin stood very still.
Too still.
