The lead warden did not signal an attack, but neither did he lower his blade. Instead, he studied Lindarion the way a scholar might study a dangerous theorem, not for beauty or fear, but to determine what rules it threatened to break. The other Tirnaeth elves spread subtly, not encircling but positioning themselves where retreat, pursuit, or execution could occur without wasted motion. Their discipline was absolute, honed by centuries of guarding borders most civilizations had forgotten existed.
"You carry layered influences," the warden said at last. "World-root resonance. Draconic inheritance. Residual divine compression. And beneath it all, something older than our treaties." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You should not still be coherent."
Nysha bristled at that, though her voice remained controlled. "He's not a phenomenon. He's a person."
"In Tirnaeth," the warden replied calmly, "those are not mutually exclusive categories."
