The four Hunters had fallen silent.
Their expressions did not soften, but something cautious and heavy entered their gazes. The next thing Caster knew, he was being escorted elsewhere, guided through unfamiliar corridors, and then left alone in a room with her.
He had recognized Seishan immediately.
Though many years his senior, and missing for nearly a decade, every daughter of Ki Song was known among vassal clans—and even among rival Domains. Their names were spoken with reverence, envy, and fear in equal measure. Seeing her in person was something else entirely.
Her beauty matched—and surpassed—the rumors. There was a sharp, effortless grace to her, something honed rather than inherited. Caster had felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her, his heart racing despite himself.
He had recovered quickly.
Training asserted itself. He had bowed, addressed her properly, and paid his respects as befitted the daughter of his Matriarch. At first, Seishan had been cordial. Not warm, but not cold either. Distant, perhaps—but attentive.
Encouraged, heart elevated, Caster had spoken of his mission.
He had come to find and slay Changing Star of the Immortal Flame Clan.
He had expected surprise. Confusion. Perhaps even approval.
Instead, he had been met with ice.
A cold rebuke. A sharp, merciless scolding that had stripped him bare and left him kneeling under invisible pressure. Even now, replaying the exchange in his mind, Caster could not fully grasp where he had erred.
He knew—acknowledged—that invoking Ki Song's name so freely had been presumptuous. He had admitted as much. He had accepted that punishment, deserved or otherwise.
But why had Seishan reacted so strongly?
Why such outright hostility at the mention of Changing Star?
He was not even certain the girl had been sent to this region of the Dream Realm yet. All he had asked—nothing more—was that Seishan remain alert. That she keep an eye out for Changing Star and assist him if the girl appeared.
That was all.
And yet, Seishan had responded as though he had committed some grave transgression.
Caster clenched his jaw.
Whatever the reason, one thing was clear now.
This mission was far more complicated than Lord Anvil had made it seem.
Once Caster had fully disappeared from her sight, Seishan finally allowed herself to exhale.
The sigh she released was long and unguarded, carrying with it a weight she had refused to show while he was present. She lifted a hand to rub at her brows, irritation seeping through the cracks of her composure. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that one of her sisters were here.
Anyone would do.
Revel, with her sharp instincts and sharper tongue.
Hel, whose silence hid an iron resolve.
Beastmaster, reckless but dependable when it mattered.
Any one of them would have eased the burden, if only by sharing it. Someone she could trust. Someone who understood what it meant to be a daughter of Ki Song.
Her thoughts drifted briefly, unbidden. She wondered how they were faring now—whether any of them had reached Transcendence yet, or stood on the threshold of it. A rarer thought followed, almost absurd in its softness: had any of them found love?
Seishan dismissed it almost immediately.
An unlikely prospect, given their shared disposition and upbringing. Even if one of them cared little for such matters, their mother certainly would. Any suitor would have to be, at minimum, the heir of a first-rate Legacy Clan. Excellence was not encouraged in their household—it was demanded.
Seishan turned the corner—
And stopped.
Her steps faltered as she took in the figure waiting there.
Tall and lean, almost unnervingly perfect in proportion, Sasrir stood with his arms crossed, his back resting casually against the stone wall. The ever-present veil of shadows clung to his form, obscuring his face and shoulders like a living shroud. At the sound of her footsteps, the darkness rippled faintly, as though reacting to her presence.
Greeting her.
"Seishan," said the Reaper of the Forgotten Shore.
His voice was calm.
And, impossibly, it carried warmth.
Seishan blinked once.
She had not known the shadow-man capable of such inflection toward anyone other than Adam. The surprise lasted only a heartbeat before she reined herself in and shifted smoothly back into composure.
"How can I help you, Sasrir?" she asked, folding her hands neatly in front of her. A polite smile curved her lips, flawless and measured.
Unlike Adam—whose natural charm and glib tongue slipped effortlessly past defenses—Sasrir relied on brute oppression and fear to dominate conversation. It was no less effective as a tactic, but against Seishan it was ill-suited. She was accustomed to monsters, both subtle and overt.
Which raised a question.
Why was Sasrir here instead of Adam?
"I heard you brought a new Sleeper to your room," Sasrir said, tilting his head slightly. Beneath the shadows, the faintest motion suggested a raised brow. "And a man at that."
Seishan's smile did not change at all.
She was well used to Sasrir's crude insinuations, his habit of unsettling others to knock them off balance. "Yes. Caster of the Han Li Clan. A subordinate Legacy under my mother," she replied smoothly. "I did not ask for him to be brought. Gemma's Hunters found him, and once he revealed his allegiances, they escorted him directly to me. They meant to be helpful, I imagine."
"You should thank Gemma later, then."
"Indeed I should."
A lull followed.
Seishan had successfully sidestepped Sasrir's opening probe, and he did not immediately press further. To her, the silence felt conspicuous. To Sasrir, it likely meant nothing at all—he was the sort of man who could dine in a hall of corpses without discomfort.
Eventually, he moved on.
"I bring a message from Adam."
Ah.
So this was it.
The exchange before had merely been a warm-up—an appetizer before the true purpose revealed itself. Seishan inclined her head slightly, though her eyes sharpened with interest.
"He has grown awfully comfortable delivering messages through you," she observed lightly. "Does being used as an errand boy not bother a man of your caliber, Sasrir?"
"Not in the slightest."
The answer came without hesitation.
Her attempt at provocation died quietly on the stone floor between them. As always, Sasrir remained frustratingly impervious.
"Well then," Seishan said, tilting her head. "Out with it. What does the Preacher want from me today?"