The morning after the silence on the wall brought no relief. Ash still clung to the rooftops. The mist had not lifted — only drawn back slightly, like breath held in anticipation. Valaris moved, but not with purpose. Not with clarity. In the hours since the soldier vanished from Cell 17, nothing had broken — but something had begun to bend. And in the heart of the palace, Lady Morveth felt it f
The palace was too still.
Not silent — there were footsteps, distant bells, the hush of morning cloth brushed across polished stone — but something beneath it all had gone quiet. As if the breath of the palace, the old breath she had ruled in the shadows for decades, had paused mid-inhale… and never resumed.
Lady Morveth sat on the edge of her chamber's divan, staring at the velvet walls. The weave was wrong. The shade of crimson — richer, deeper — resembled the red of blood that had not yet dried. She reached out and touched the fabric.
It pulsed.
