Intro. The cold breeze stopped.
It was no ordinary wind — it was as if the world itself had held its breath.
At the top of the silent stairs, between veils of light and feathers that never touched the floor, a figure remained seated, gently swinging its legs like a distracted child. His eyes were closed, and a low, melodious chant echoed through the air, sweet… beautiful… wrong.
Columbine.
She did not arrive with the weight of a warrior nor with the grandeur of a sovereign. His presence was light—too light for someone who made even the cruelest Harbingers avoid approaching.
The fabrics of her dress floated as if obeying a song that only she could hear. The small wings next to her head trembled with each note of her song, and the delicate smile on her lips carried no malice… but it also carried no humanity.
She didn't look at anyone.
There was no need.
Because everyone felt it.