It had been less than a day since the council chamber fell silent.
Since Morveth's voice found no echo. Since Luceris stood beside her, and the maps began to stain with ink that remembered older wars.
Ferdinand had not slept.
He had returned to the War Hall , watched the city dim by degrees — not from time, but from forgetting.
The mist did not rise that night.
It settled.
Heavy, deliberate — like a verdict delivered in silence. It pressed against rooftops and ran through alley gutters, clinging to windows with the gentleness of rot. From the high balcony of the War Hall, Duke Ferdinand watched it crawl.
He had stood on this stone for decades. Had reviewed battles from this height, condemned traitors, welcomed victories. But tonight, the marble felt brittle beneath his boots — as if one more breath might fracture it clean through.
