Yesterday, 11:46 PM
Sámiel’s attention trailed after Calliope as Seraphis gently guided her away. The soft murmurs of their conversation drifted back to him, muffled by the Chamber’s strange acoustics, but he didn’t need to hear the words to feel what was happening.
His gaze followed them, unblinking, as though he might will her to turn around, to look back. Something in her drew him, something raw and unshaped that practically begged to be awakened. He knew what Seraphis wanted from her—what they all wanted. Faith. Obedience. Transformation on their terms. But that wasn’t what Sámiel wanted. He didn’t want to mold her. He wanted to open her, to see what lay beneath the surface of her patient smiles and unyielding poise. To see if she could survive the chaos she so carefully kept at bay.
The thought stirred something dark and restless within him, a hunger that wasn’t quite clear even to himself. For a moment, his fingers flexed at his sides, and he took a half-step forward, as though he might follow them. But he stopped, lips curving into a faint, wry smile. Not yet. Let her go, for now. The storm would come soon enough.
Turning sharply, Sámiel shifted his attention to Quillon, who stood waiting. The Veilwarden’s posture was taut, his ambition practically radiating off him, though he tried to mask it behind a practiced calm. Sámiel took his time closing the distance between them, his gaze fixed on Quillon like a wolf sizing up its prey.
He gestured with a casual flick of his hand. “Let’s talk, Veilwarden. I’m dying to hear what you have to say.”
His gaze followed them, unblinking, as though he might will her to turn around, to look back. Something in her drew him, something raw and unshaped that practically begged to be awakened. He knew what Seraphis wanted from her—what they all wanted. Faith. Obedience. Transformation on their terms. But that wasn’t what Sámiel wanted. He didn’t want to mold her. He wanted to open her, to see what lay beneath the surface of her patient smiles and unyielding poise. To see if she could survive the chaos she so carefully kept at bay.
The thought stirred something dark and restless within him, a hunger that wasn’t quite clear even to himself. For a moment, his fingers flexed at his sides, and he took a half-step forward, as though he might follow them. But he stopped, lips curving into a faint, wry smile. Not yet. Let her go, for now. The storm would come soon enough.
Turning sharply, Sámiel shifted his attention to Quillon, who stood waiting. The Veilwarden’s posture was taut, his ambition practically radiating off him, though he tried to mask it behind a practiced calm. Sámiel took his time closing the distance between them, his gaze fixed on Quillon like a wolf sizing up its prey.
He gestured with a casual flick of his hand. “Let’s talk, Veilwarden. I’m dying to hear what you have to say.”