The white marble of the throne hall no longer reflected divinity.The crystal chandeliers suspended beneath the heavenly dome had dimmed, leaving behind a suffocating gloom as though the Sky Capital itself was holding its breath. Upon the cold golden throne, Elara no longer resembled a goddess.Her spine was rigid.Her slender fingers dug into the armrests so violently that the pure gold beneath them slowly bent under the pressure of her power.Before her, two men lay prostrate.They were no longer spies—merely trembling heaps of flesh wrapped in filthy robes and the stench of fear-soaked urine. Their breathing came in ragged bursts, lungs still coated with the dust of Echo Valley.“Repeat it,” Elara whispered.Her voice was not loud, yet the vibration inside it extinguished every flame in the chamber instantly.“No filters. No embellishments.”One of the spies slowly lifted his head.His eyes were empty now, hollowed out by whatever he had witnessed beneath the clouds.“He… he didn’t