The air in the room was stretched taut as a bowstring. The hostility between Biberus and Abdullah had almost become palpable, cold steel silently clashing with a burning gaze.
The other company captains held their breath. The slightest spark could ignite that oppressive silence.
Boom!
The alloy doors were thrust open from outside. The heavy crash shattered the silence and made every heart leap.
Saladin's towering figure stood in the doorway, backlit by the corridor lights.
He had changed into a fresh sand-colored robe embroidered with gold thread, his curly hair neatly tied behind his head. The blood and exhaustion seemed to have been carefully scrubbed from his face, leaving only a trace of pallor.
He stood straight-backed, like a great rock weathering the sandstorms of Colchis. Expressionless, he swept his golden eyes over everyone in the room before settling on the two men facing off.
The coldness and confusion were gone from his gaze, replaced by the familiar, unquestionable authority of the Legion's lord.
"Father!"
Abdullah reacted first. The fury on his face instantly gave way to delight and triumph, and he all but lunged a step forward, his voice brimming with excitement.
The others immediately pressed hands to their chests in salute and addressed him as "Father," though their expressions differed. Craston remained calm, Emil looked worried, Gokbuli's gaze was inscrutable, and Shirku was visibly relieved.
Saladin did not acknowledge Abdullah's excitement. He entered the room with steady steps, his pace deliberately measured.
He reached the long table, braced both hands against its smooth surface, and slowly surveyed every face.
"I heard you," he began. His voice was quiet, yet reached every ear clearly.
"Your argument. From just outside the door."
The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop.
"The fault was mine," Saladin continued.
"An...