The auction continued.
They were on the tenth item now—some ancient relic with runic enhancements, its glow drawing cheers from the eager crowd. But for Caldrith Veinos Varn, nothing could have felt more distant. He sat stiffly, spine like stone, lungs tight, chest aching.
He was restless. Hopeful, maybe. But that hope was brittle. His soul—his trait—was screaming. Not whispering. Screaming.
This will end in failure.
Still, he stayed. Still, he pushed forward.
There was no backing down now. The pieces were in place. The operation had been set into motion. But then—it came.
A voice. Not spoken. Not heard.
Felt.
It wasn't sound. It wasn't vibration. It was an omnipresent pressure, a resonance that moved not through air, but through the soul itself.
He's here.
The divine thread pulsed in his heart.
He knew in that moment—he had been caught. From the very beginning. The eyes of Lord Aurelion had never left him.
And yet, he had not been killed.
