"Lucavion."
Lucavion didn't respond immediately. He simply turned, hands relaxed at his sides, gaze already sweeping the edges of the forge where the real fire was kept.
Kaleran took a measured breath. "Due to your exceptional performance during the entrance trials," he said, each word deliberate, "you will be granted the right to commission your weapon from the Empire's highest-ranked blacksmith."
That drew a reaction.
Toven actually stopped mid-fidget, blinking.
Mireilla glanced up, her expression unreadable but no longer indifferent.
Even Elayne's gaze lifted from the glass projections.
Lucavion… merely raised a brow.
Kaleran continued, unbothered by the shifting tension. "This is not a courtesy. It is a recognition. The individual you will be working with has forged blades for High Generals, Grand Magi, and the imperial bloodline itself."
There was a slight pause—almost as if he were preparing them for a name.
