The rain had stopped by dawn, but the storm it left behind had settled into the bones of the capital. Aetherion felt quieter than usual, as if the entire kingdom held its breath. Whispers trailed through the market streets, slipping between baker stalls and patrol lines like restless spirits.
Selene's victory at the river had reached the city before sunrise.
Lucian stood at the high window of the palace war room, the parchment still clutched in his hand. Selene's message was short, cold, efficient—just like her.
*The border holds. Corvus is dead. Losses minimal. Proceed with caution.*
It was everything he'd hoped for. And yet the victory felt hollow.
He read the message again, eyes tracing the careful lettering. No personal note. No hidden meaning. Nothing between the lines. Selene had written it like she was reporting to a stranger.
Kael cleared his throat from across the room. "The council awaits your confirmation, Your Majesty. They've been… restless."
