Kaelen stalked through the hushed halls of the Obsidian Citadel, the familiar chill of its stone walls offering no solace. The Obsidian Whispers, unleashed by Isolde's mere presence, were a relentless torment. They clawed at his mind like unseen talons, a bitter, cutting wind that felt less like a magical backlash and more like a physical laceration.

He gritted his teeth, forcing down the involuntary shivers that threatened to betray his composure. Disruptive magic, he repeated to himself, a cold mantra to explain away the unsettling sensations. It had to be her magic, not his own internal fracturing. He was Lord Kaelen Thorne, High Enforcer, impervious to such frivolous things as "emotions."