The moment of silence ended slowly, like the last echo of a distant drum fading into dusk. Liam took one last look at his friends—his battered, scarred, yet still standing friends—and then turned to the queen. Her regal figure stood in the faintest shimmer of what remained of her unbinding light, her long hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes still unreadable… but wiser, now. Older in a different way.
He stepped forward, his sword now sheathed at his side. The rest of them instinctively gave him space, even Eleanor, who stood like a sentinel at Sophia's side.
"What do you know about the next test?" Liam asked.
His voice was quiet but firm. There was no anger in it, only resolve—like a soldier asking his commander what mountain he was expected to climb next, no matter how steep.
The queen looked at him. Her lips pressed together for a moment, and then her eyes fell—not out of guilt, but because the weight of her memories was too much to carry in silence.
