[justify][indent][indent]The sweetness in the air thickened until it coated the back of his throat. Aramis swallowed, slow, the motion deliberate. Power offered so freely had a taste — always pleasant first, always cloying after. Kavros’ voice echoed through the mirrored hall, heavy with promise. The runes flared with it, pulsing in quiet agreement, and the mist curled low at their feet like it wanted to listen. The scholar in him wanted to listen too — to take it apart, piece by piece, to see how it worked. The rest of him remembered what happened to people who couldn’t stop at curiosity.

He didn’t step forward. Didn’t even shift his weight. The others had already tightened formation, and he wasn’t about to be the one to break it. He let the staff rest upright against his shoulder, eyes fixed on the reflection of the throne rather than the thing that sat in it. He felt safer that way. The offer gnawed at him all the same. Secrets. Knowledge. Power. It was exactly the kind of bait that hooked people who read too much and thought too little. His fingers flexed against the wood, the thought finding its way out in a low voice meant for no one but himself:

[colour=536dfe]“Shortcuts leave gaps,”[/colour] he murmured, the words rough as gravel. [colour=536dfe]“And gaps get people killed.”[/colour] He wasn’t sure if he was reminding himself, or answering the offer. Maybe both. He adjusted his glasses, eyes flicking once toward Evie, then Locke, then Yumi’s stillness reflected a dozen times over. Everyone was braced, measured, waiting for the first wrong move. Aramis exhaled through his nose, quiet but steady. [colour=536dfe]“There’s no wisdom in learning fast,”[/colour] he added softly, the faintest edge of disdain curling the last word. And with that, he fell silent again — not defiant, but immovable. Whatever power sat on that throne would find no eager student here.[/indent][/indent][/justify]