Night is growing as he slips into the quiet of the Chamber. There is silence, soft stirrings of sleeping breaths and the nocturnal creatures arising. He does not hover at the border, there is no need – he is welcomed here, under the new reign of Straia. Although the lands are still quiet and newborn, there is a sense of growth underneath – a vine waiting for sunlight to feed upon before thrusting from the ground and devouring all in its path.
He shields himself from the outside world, magic cloaking over his skin and the area around him. His thoughts are encased in metal, available to Straia and Warship alone. He calls to them, a soft whisper in their minds, easing them from sleep, or patrolling, or whatever the night had brought them to. Straia, Warship. Come. There are things to discuss. I have need of you. And so he waits, allowing himself to be visible to only the two he had called to.
There was change on the horizon.

∞

and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in