Vergil stood there, inches away from Viviane, still bent slightly, his eyes fixed on hers. His playful tone from moments before had evaporated like mist dissipated in the wind, replaced by something denser—the gravity of someone who knows that calm times always come to an end.
He straightened, arms crossed behind his back, and let the silence weigh on him for a few seconds before speaking, cold and direct:
"Viviane. What can you tell me about the Witch Queen?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Iridia and Zex, who were still hovering discreetly in the corners, stopped, as if the name had the power to seal their feet to the ground.
Viviane, however, did not move. Nor did she blink. She simply raised her eyes slowly to him, as if she had already expected that question—or feared when it would finally come.
