Morning stripped the city of its mystery.
In daylight, Virell looked smaller—narrow streets curling like veins, pale stone walls scarred by age rather than war. Kael watched it awaken from the same balcony where the night before had rewritten its fate. Merchants raised shutters. Children ran messages. Life resumed with cautious speed, as if the city feared hesitation more than change.
Behind him, the doors to the governor's chamber opened.
Seris entered without ceremony, her gown replaced by a tailored coat of dark leather and silk. She looked less like a courtly figure now and more like what she truly was: a ruler accustomed to negotiating with blades hidden behind smiles.
"You didn't flee at dawn," Kael said. "Many would have."
"Many lack imagination," Seris replied. She joined him at the balcony, resting her hands on the stone rail. "Or courage."
Silence stretched between them—not uncomfortable, but weighted. Kael felt the new strength still settling inside him, not roaring or demanding, but listening. That was new. Usually, power clamored to be used.
"You didn't bind me," Seris said at last.
Kael turned to her. "I don't bind people."
"You could have." Her gaze was sharp. "Others with your gift would have."
"I know." His jaw tightened. "They don't last."
Seris studied him with renewed interest. "Then we need to speak of what comes next."
They moved inside, where maps covered the long table—trade routes, neighboring territories, grain reserves. Kael hadn't ordered them placed there. She had anticipated this moment long before the city fell.
"Virell will accept your rule," Seris said, tapping a finger against the parchment. "But acceptance is not loyalty. You'll need more than banners and decrees."
"I'm listening."
"Keep the council," she said. "Purge only those who resist openly. Stability will come faster if the city recognizes its own reflection in your governance."
Kael smiled faintly. "You're offering to help me rule."
"I'm offering to protect my city," she replied. "If that means ruling beside you, so be it."
The warmth stirred again—not hunger this time, but approval. Power responded to intent as much as action. Kael felt it etch itself deeper, quieter, like a foundation laid beneath stone.
"You'll have autonomy," he said. "Virell governs itself. Taxes fair. Laws enforced evenly. In return—"
"Military support," Seris finished. "And honesty."
He met her gaze. "Always."
A knock interrupted them. One of Kael's captains entered, helm tucked under his arm. "The southern garrison has surrendered. No resistance."
"Good," Kael said. "See that they're fed."
The captain hesitated, clearly unused to the order. "Fed, my lord?"
"Hungry men rebel," Kael replied. "Full ones think."
When the captain left, Seris laughed softly. "You're going to ruin the reputation of conquerors everywhere."
"Let them hate me for it," Kael said. "Fear is easy. Respect is harder."
She regarded him for a long moment, then extended her hand. "Then let's begin something difficult."
He took it.
Outside, bells rang—not in mourning, but in announcement. A new rule, a new balance. Kael felt the pull of the world beyond Virell already—other cities, other challenges, other wills that would not bend easily.
But for now, conquest meant restraint.
And that, he was beginning to realize, was where true strength was forged.