Chapter 147: The Cost of Ambition
The silence in the Alarian command tent was not sacred. It was strained. High Quietus Solen stood before the communication basin, its still water reflecting the stark northern lights. The report from the perimeter of Frosthold was not of victory, but of contamination.
The silence is no longer pure, the sending from the Stillborn circle leader whispered into his mind, a soundless thought tinged with something alien: unease. They are placing… things within it. Small, specific truths. Aches. Memories. The silence is digesting them, but it is becoming… flavored. It weakens the doctrinal certainty.
