The manor offices hummed with quiet efficiency, clerks moving between desks stacked with ledgers that glowed faintly with preservation magic.
Edric's polished boots echoed on the marble floors as he strode past worktables where scribes recorded crop yields in glowing numerals that shifted before his eyes.
"Lord Herald," a smooth voice interrupted his inspection.
Edric turned to face a lean man in scholar's robes, his sharp features framed by his black hair. The stranger bowed slightly, hands folded in sleeves embroidered with Bryndis' crest.
"Felix Dorne, at your service. Harold mentioned you sought me."
Edric's eyes narrowed. This unassuming man had convinced seventy-five thousand souls to abandon their homes? "Your baron's... recruiter, I'm told."
"Migration Coordinator," Felix corrected with a smile that didn't reach his calculating eyes. "Shall we speak privately?"
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