The moment Rythe exited, the door thudded shut behind him—final, heavy.
Inside the throne room, the stillness stretched like a second skin.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Even breath felt like blasphemy in the aftermath of Rythe's truth.
The emperor—Valien, ruler of the realm and father of eight
—sat frozen on his throne, his fingers trembling ever so slightly against the stone armrest. His face, carved in iron for decades, now cracked around the eyes. Not even during war councils or executions had he looked so old.
It was Princess Astrid who broke first.
A soft, broken sob slipped from her lips as she covered her face with both hands.
"A baby…" she whispered. "Our nephew… our blood…"
Vaela clutched her hand as if anchoring herself.
Rhalia lowered her head, shoulders quivering.
Crown Prince Maleaus looked like he had been struck in the chest. He stared at the floor, unmoving. His voice was ragged when it came.
"All this time... He's been carrying it all. Alone."
No one corrected him.
Kael looked stunned. Pale. His mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, but no sound came. He kept blinking, as though trying to convince himself it wasn't real. That he hadn't nearly killed his own nephew. That he hadn't destroyed his brother's only child.
"I… I didn't know…" Kael finally managed, voice raw with disbelief.
Elion turned sharply, fury rising for the first time.
"You didn't care to know, Kael. None of us did."
"I—" Kael's voice cracked. "I thought… it was just politics. Strategy. I didn't mean for…"
The emperor raised a hand. They all fell silent.
His voice came low. Hoarse. Laden with a weight he could no longer hide behind the guise of rule.
"I gave the order," he said. "I gave the permission… for Aurean's torture. Knowing what Kael and Halric had done."
His children turned toward him, their expressions folding into horror.
"I gave the order," Valien repeated. "And I told myself it was for the good of the realm."
He exhaled shakily, and for the first time in years, he did not look like an emperor. He looked like a man—a man broken under the crushing realization of what he had done.
"A grandchild. My first grandchild… murdered under my roof by my command."
His voice broke.
"And I never even knew his name. I never saw him. Never heard him cry. Never held him. Rythe… my son… he lost everything. And I gave him nothing."
Astrid wiped her tears furiously. Rhalia was crying openly now. Vaela turned away, unable to look at anyone.
"I always thought Rythe was cold because of what he'd seen in war," Maleaus said softly. "But now… gods forgive me… he's been bleeding for all of us."
"He stood between me and death," Vaela whispered, her eyes wide and glassy. "He waged war for me."
"He saved me," Astrid added, voice hollow. "And I never said thank you. Not once."
A bitter silence followed.
Then Kael fell to his knees. Not out of ceremony—out of collapse.
"I should have died in that forest," he choked. "I should have… I don't know how he can look at me. I don't know how he saved me. After everything."
The emperor looked at his son—his second-born—and the pain in his eyes was indistinguishable from Kael's.
"You're alive," Valien said slowly, "because Rythe still sees you as his brother. Even after everything. And perhaps… perhaps that makes him the only true son I have ever raised."
No one corrected him.
The guilt sat like a ghost among them.
A prince's rage.
An emperor's blindness.
A family's silence.
And a child that would never be.
"We killed that child," Elion said bluntly. "With our silence, our pride, our cowardice."
"And we nearly killed his father too," added Maleaus.
The room was so quiet, even the wind outside seemed to have paused.
And then, Valien stood.
"Send word to the temple," he said grimly. "There will be a mourning bell tolled at dawn—for the child lost to this kingdom. My grandchild. Rythe's son. The prince who never was."
He turned to his children.
"We will atone. Even if Rythe does not forgive us."
And with that, the emperor of the realm walked away—his steps heavy with guilt, his crown heavier still.
Rythe sat alone in his study, the last light of evening painting the stone walls in bruised amber.
He hadn't touched the goblet of wine beside him. The hearth crackled low, but the warmth didn't reach him. He sat slouched in the chair near the window, his armor unfastened and half-peeled away from his shoulders, his sword lying untouched by the door. His eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the palace, beyond the horizon.
Where Virelia lay.
Where Aurean was.
Where the child they never met would never be.
A knock echoed.
Soft. Hesitant.
He didn't answer. But the door creaked open regardless.
Princess Rhalia stepped in first—her expression pained, her steps unsure. Vaela followed, holding her hands tightly in front of her, and Astrid came last, quiet as a shadow, her boots soft on the rug.
They stood awkwardly for a moment.
Rythe didn't look up.
"I'm not in the mood for scolding or condolences," he muttered, voice hollow.
"We didn't come for either," Vaela said softly.
Astrid stepped forward, her voice like dusk wind.
"We came to sit with you."
Still, he didn't look at them. He stared out the window, eyes reflecting nothing.
Rhalia lowered herself onto the arm of the chair opposite him, hands folded in her lap.
"We were terrible to him, Rythe," she said quietly. "And to you."
Rythe's jaw clenched. He still didn't speak.
Vaela crossed to the other chair, sitting slowly, eyes on the flickering fire.
"I used to think you were cold," she admitted. "Distant. Like a blade drawn too long. But now I see you've been bleeding for so long, you just forgot how to cry."
Astrid sat cross-legged on the rug, as she used to when they were children. Her chin rested on her knee, eyes watching him carefully.
"Why didn't you tell us?" she asked gently. "Why carry it all?"
"Because none of you would have believed me," Rythe finally said, his voice low and raw. "Because even I didn't want to believe myself."
He exhaled sharply through his nose. His hand dragged over his face.
"Because I thought maybe if I kept the pain, I could protect him."
Rhalia reached for his hand but didn't touch it. She just hovered close enough.
"You always protect us, Rythe," she said. "Even from ourselves."
A pause. Then:
"We remembered the child today," she added, her voice trembling. "The temple bell will toll at dawn."
That struck something in him. He swallowed hard and looked away, his eyes now shimmering faintly.
"A child that died before he had a name," Rythe whispered. "Because I failed to protect what was mine."
Astrid crawled to his side and took his hand without hesitation.
"Then let us name him," she said. "Now. Together."
Rythe looked at her.
The sisters nodded, each face glistening with silent tears. A strange peace settled in the air.
"Elion once said you always liked the name Caelum," Vaela offered.
Rythe blinked.
He had. Long ago. For no particular reason, just a quiet name that meant sky.
"Caelum," he repeated, voice breaking slightly.
"A name for the child who never touched the earth, but lived in the heart of a storm," Rhalia said.
They all bowed their heads, not with ceremony but with love.
A name.
A memory.
And at last, a moment of shared grief.
After a long while, Rythe finally let his shoulders fall. His head dropped into his hand, and though no one said anything, his sisters remained. One hand on his arm, another on his shoulder, one curled beside him on the floor.
And for the first time in years, Rythe was not alone in the silence.