Walking out from the inner courtroom, his face void of expression—grim, impassive—Znoh continued toward the exit of the outer hall.
As he reached the center, the hem of his robe fluttered lightly.
The massive entrance doors opened, revealing a figure stepping in.
He was adorned in a deep purple robe with an edged collar marked by intricate designs.
His steps rang against the stone like metal striking rock. A neatly trimmed beard framed his composed face; charcoal eyes stood firm and aloof beneath properly cut hair. This was a man Znoh knew well—the infamous Duke Ecnes.
Neither slowed. Neither paused. Znoh did not shift his gaze in acknowledgment. The Duke, unsurprised by the disregard, mirrored it perfectly. They passed one another without a word, without a falter—as though neither had ever occupied the same space.
