Wait Ethan.

The headquarters of Calsoz felt almost too silent as Ethan marched through the marbled

corridors, the steady thump of his boots echoing off towering stone arches.

Tapestries depicting legendary battles swayed gently in a faint breeze that smelled of oil, steel, and parchment.

He passed knights standing at attention, clerks scurrying between offices, and a few familiar

faces who gave him nods of respect—or curiosity. Word traveled fast in Duskwatch, and his name

was buzzing on everyone's lips after the chaos beneath the city.

At last, he arrived at a heavy wooden door, reinforced with gleaming iron. The engraved plaque

read:

SWORDMASTER SELENE ASHVALE

He paused, feeling the weight of the last few days pressing down on his shoulders. Dust, blood,

and exhaustion still clung to his clothes. He drew a steadying breath and knocked.

"Enter!" came a voice sharp as drawn steel.