Tharion’s eyes narrow beneath his hood as he steps fully inside, the candlelight glinting off the silver strands in his hair. He remains silent for a beat, weighing the old woman’s words like stones in his palm.
"I do not believe in fate," he says, his voice low and weathered like a wind through pine. "But I follow signs when they lead me true—and the stars led me here."
He lowers himself onto the cushion, never breaking eye contact.
"You say you’ve been expecting me. Then you know already: my story is not yet finished… but it’s written in blood and ash."
