[Third POV – General]
Caedryn rarely lost composure.
That was one of the reasons people feared him more than they feared open tyrants. He did not shout. He did not pace. He did not throw objects across rooms when things failed.
He adjusted.
He calculated.
He corrected.
But when the report reached him that the Grave Choir Thrall had vanished, not destroyed in the usual sense but simply… gone, something inside him shifted.
He stood in his private chamber, one hand resting lightly on the edge of his desk. The report crystal hovered in the air before him, replaying the last recorded disturbance from the sealed wing.
Static.
A violent spike of energy.
Then nothing.
He replayed it again.
Nothing.
His jaw tightened.
"Explain it again," Caedryn uttered quietly, voice smooth but strained at the edges.
His assistant stood a few steps behind him, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back. He did not dare show fear, but his throat moved as he swallowed.
