The moment the crystal went dark, the silence of the throne room didn't just return; it suffocated her.
Celestina remained motionless for three heartbeats, her spine rigid against the throne, her fingers still curled around the armrest. But beneath the practiced veneer of the unshakable commander, something was hemorrhaging.
The calculation she had performed wasn't just workable; it was terrifying. It was a tightrope walk over an abyss that had no bottom.
A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then another.
When she stood, she didn't walk; she stormed. The heavy silk of her robes hissed against the marble floor like a disturbed viper as she retreated from the throne room, her boots striking the stone with each step like hammer blows.
Her breathing was shallow, each inhalation feeling like she was swallowing broken glass.
The moment her private sanctum's heavy obsidian doors slammed shut behind her, the dam broke.
