01-18-2026, 10:42 PM
Nikolai accepted the list without ceremony. The paper was thin and unassuming yet what it represented was not. With a flick of his gaze, he passed it back to Allan. He didn’t need to speak to suggest what he required.
Find out who they are. What they’re connected to. Who they serve in truth.
Nikolai’s eyes returned to Eliot, his expression unreadable. He thinks I expected resistance. Perhaps he had. But not because he doubted the man’s resolve. Eliot was shrewd and pragmatic to the point of cruelty. No, he had expected resistance because most men flinched when they had to place their own people on the altar. But Eliot had handed them over like tools, and there was no mercy in it. That, at least, Nikolai could sense.
The mention of Zephyr Lelantos pulled his attention more tightly. Simply speaking her name gave the impression of her in the room the moment Eliot said it, as though the air itself remembered the hunts she had led.
Old world. Hunter of gods. There was a bite of something that didn’t sit easily with him. But he let it pass. Power was rarely comfortable.
“Zephyr Lelantos,” he said, repeating the name in acceptance. Eliot suggested there was history behind the name, stories, legacies, old lines tangled in blood and belief, but Nikolai didn’t know them and never cared to. His time in the Atharim had been too short, and bloodlines and sacred oaths hadn’t mattered then.
“Very well,” Nikolai said quietly. “Your nomination is accepted.” His gaze moved to Helena, lingering for a moment.
Find out who they are. What they’re connected to. Who they serve in truth.
Nikolai’s eyes returned to Eliot, his expression unreadable. He thinks I expected resistance. Perhaps he had. But not because he doubted the man’s resolve. Eliot was shrewd and pragmatic to the point of cruelty. No, he had expected resistance because most men flinched when they had to place their own people on the altar. But Eliot had handed them over like tools, and there was no mercy in it. That, at least, Nikolai could sense.
The mention of Zephyr Lelantos pulled his attention more tightly. Simply speaking her name gave the impression of her in the room the moment Eliot said it, as though the air itself remembered the hunts she had led.
Old world. Hunter of gods. There was a bite of something that didn’t sit easily with him. But he let it pass. Power was rarely comfortable.
“Zephyr Lelantos,” he said, repeating the name in acceptance. Eliot suggested there was history behind the name, stories, legacies, old lines tangled in blood and belief, but Nikolai didn’t know them and never cared to. His time in the Atharim had been too short, and bloodlines and sacred oaths hadn’t mattered then.
“Very well,” Nikolai said quietly. “Your nomination is accepted.” His gaze moved to Helena, lingering for a moment.