Lilith understood him.
She had always understood Valcrest—not just the way he moved or the way he thought, but the way he felt underneath it all.
That quiet precision, that sharpness born from being denied revenge long enough for it to calcify into something colder, something more deliberate.
He had never been a man who rushed to punish. Not when the fire inside had cooled into focus. And that was what worried her most.
She opened the private channel—something ancient, older than any known tech or spell system, older than most of the faces that now ruled this world.
The crescent-shaped rune on her wrist lit up, glowing with a soft shimmer as the air in the room folded without sound.
A single figure appeared, kneeling low with a cloak that dragged shadows behind it, head bowed with absolute discipline.
"High Commander of the Crescent Legion, reporting."
