"Nothing," he said aloud, voice easy, deflective.
[That kind of nothing makes my tail itch,] she muttered.
But she didn't press.
Lucavion let his fingers trail briefly across the projection glass once more before the light dimmed completely. His reflection faded into it—leaving only the echo of the crest behind.
Then he turned away from it.
Quiet.
Composed.
And carrying a silence that felt heavier than it should.
Once the final measurements were recorded and the tailors stepped away, the runes dimmed beneath their feet, signaling the end of the session. The room returned to stillness—only now, each of them carried something tailored not just to their frame, but to the image the world was about to see.
Kaleran reappeared with his usual timing—precise, composed, unavoidable.
His slate cloak didn't so much rustle as it simply existed in motion, much like the man himself. He stepped to the center of the room and folded his hands behind his back.
