Adrian rose with the elegance of a man who had never learned how not to be watched.
Each motion was measured. Each step forward carried the weight of generations. He didn't hurry. He didn't hesitate. His boots struck the polished floor in perfect rhythm, not loud—but unignorable.
The silver trim of his uniform gleamed under the illusion-sky, catching just enough light to make him glow like a blade still in its sheath.
And then—he stopped.
His eyes swept the crowd.
Not arrogantly.
Not hungrily.
But with the calm detachment of someone cataloguing a ledger.
Jet black hair fell in crisp, deliberate lines just above his shoulders, untouched by fray or imperfection. His expression remained perfectly neutral—too neutral. The kind that screamed caution through its very composure.
His voice, when it came, was soft.
Steady.
"The Lorian Empire… is honored."
The words dropped like clean stones into still water.
