A strange quiet settled over the estate after Damon’s abrupt departure. Elara stood alone in the dye workshop, the scent of indigo and natural mordants still clinging to the air, a testament to her recent triumph. Her hands, stained a faint blue, felt foreign. Relief should have washed over her, but Damon's grim expression before he left had etched itself into her mind. He had given her that troubled glance, a look that spoke of burdens she couldn't comprehend. What confidential call could possibly overshadow saving an entire batch of Imperial Court silk? Unease churned in her stomach. She needed to retrieve her personal journal, left carelessly on a workbench earlier. It held her formulas, her observations, her very soul. Leaving it behind felt irresponsible, almost a premonition. Making her way through the hushed corridors, Elara noted the dimming light outside. Evening approached, casting long shadows. Her footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible on the polished stone floors. Approaching Damon’s private study, a low murmur of voices reached her. His door, usually firmly shut, was ajar, a sliver of light escaping into the hall. Curiosity, a dangerous siren, pulled her closer. She hesitated, her hand hovering near the ornate handle. Eavesdropping was wrong. Yet, the intensity of the voices, particularly Damon’s, held her captive. He sounded different. Sharper. More raw. “...They called it crude,” Damon’s voice cut through the air, laced with an unfamiliar bitterness. “A cheap imitation. Said our streamlined process lacked ‘soul.’ Lacked ‘heritage.’ What a joke.” Elara froze. Soul? Heritage? Her own heart gave a strange lurch. He was speaking to someone, perhaps on a video call, his voice carrying clearly from the room. “A simpler, more efficient way to weave and dye,” another, older male voice responded, sounding weary. “That’s all it ever was, Damon. We never sought to disrespect the old ways, only to build upon them.” “Build upon them? They saw it as tearing them down!” Damon’s reply was a snarl, devoid of his usual controlled calm. “Dismissed every innovation, every cost-saving measure, simply because it wasn’t done the ‘traditional’ way. Because it didn’t involve twenty craftsmen and three months of painstaking, unnecessary labor.” Unnecessary labor. Elara felt a chill trace down her spine. Her own methods, while traditional, were often about finding the purest, most direct path, minimizing waste and complexity. Was this the kind of

Chapter 14: A Glimpse Behind the Mask