Chapter 782: What Is The Severance Decree?
Commander Zion Ardent’s personal office was in the western command wing of the palace, close enough to the military chambers to serve as a working post, but removed enough to offer privacy when reports required careful handling.
Tharionson moved through that wing without slowing, passing two clerks and a patrol captain who immediately stepped aside at the sight of him. None of them spoke beyond formal greetings, and he did not stop to answer with anything more than a curt nod.
By the time he reached Zion’s door, his mind had already begun organizing what needed to be asked.
He knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for permission.
Commander Zion Ardent looked up from behind his desk, where several security reports were spread open beneath the glow of a desk lamp despite the afternoon light still entering through the narrow window behind him. He was not in ceremonial armor, but in the dark, fitted uniform of an active Solarian commander, the collar loosened just enough to suggest he had been at the desk for hours.
His dark blond hair was neatly kept, though slightly disturbed near one side as if he had run a hand through it while reading, and his blue eyes carried the alert steadiness of a man who had been trained to absorb bad news without letting it show too much on his face.
The reports before him appeared to cover the recent unrest across Zones 15, 16, and 17. Tharionson recognized several of the seals at once: casualty summaries, arrested suspect lists, noble dispute filings, movement records from military detachments, and reports from regional investigators who had been pulled between civil disorder and murder inquiries until both matters had begun feeding into one another.
"My Prince," Zion said, rising immediately. "I was not told you were coming."
"I did not send word," Tharionson replied as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Zion’s eyes moved across Tharionson’s face with restrained concern. He was too disciplined to comment on the visible exhaustion unless invited, but he noticed it. Zion noticed most things. That was part of the reason Tharionson still trusted him more than almost anyone else left inside the palace.
Tharionson did not sit. He stood in front of Zion’s desk, one hand resting near the back of the chair across from him, and asked, "Have you ever heard of something called the Severance Decree?"
The change in Zion was subtle, but it was there. He did not flinch, did not pale, did not make the mistake of looking toward the door or reaching for some instinctive denial. His face simply became still in a different way. The kind of seriousness that did not come from confusion, but from recognition. His hand, which had been resting near one of the reports, stopped moving entirely, and his eyes held Tharionson’s for a moment longer than ordinary conversation required.