Morning came gently.Soft golden light filtered through the tall windows of the council chamber, stretching long and quiet across the polished marble floor. Dust floated in the beams, catching the light like tiny stars old, weightless, and watching. The chamber, once echoing with shouting and war cries, now held only stillness.Adrian sat at the long table, head bowed, shoulders stiff. In his right hand, a silver quill hovered above a blank sheet of parchment, the tip trembling slightly. He had faced monsters and murderers. He had led armies. But this this silence, this waiting to write something real felt heavier than all of it.Evelyn stood beside him, her arms folded across her chest, her gaze fixed not on him but on the page. She didn’t speak right away. The moment needed breath. It needed thought.“It’s not a law" she finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, steady like stone. “Not a decree. Not about thrones or bloodlines"Adrian gave a slow nod, swallowing. His f

The journal felt heavy in Damien’s hands now. Not because of its weight but because of what it carried. Memories. Pain. Love. Loss.He sat alone in the quiet room, fingers resting over the final page. The study was lined with the scent of cedar and faint rose, the same Elara used to press between books. A soft breeze filtered through the half-open window, stirring the curtains like gentle ghosts. Outside, the shadows stretched long as twilight settled over the city.Ink had smudged slightly beneath his thumb. The sentence he had once thought impossible to write now stared back at him.One last line.“She was not the end. She was the beginning"He laid the pen down gently.A hush filled the room. Not silence but the kind of quiet that followed resolution. Like an orchestra’s final note suspended in the air before it disappeared. Damien closed the journal, its leather worn, the edges weathered by time and touch. It had been his burden and his sanctuary. Now it was complete.Outside, the

The courtyard was quiet.Once, it had been beautiful. Long ago, it had been full of flowers and laughter. But now, it was only black stone and silence. The walls were cracked. Ash sat in the corners, in the lines between the bricks, like dust that never left. The wind moved slowly, as if afraid to speak too loudly in such a broken place.Adrian stood at the edge for a moment, just looking.Then he dropped to his knees. The stones were rough beneath him. His hands moved over the ground, pushing away dirt, touching the scorched earth. His fingers were soon covered in black dust and soil. Beside him, Evelyn knelt too, holding a small cloth pouch. She was quiet, her hands shaking a little.Inside the pouch were seeds.Very small.Very strange.They didn’t look like normal seeds. They glowed softly, like tiny pieces of light caught in a shell. Warm. Alive.“She called them phoenix seeds" Adrian said quietly. He opened his hand and showed the seeds to Evelyn. “She said they could grow anywh

Evelyn walked slowly.The path ahead of her was narrow, almost hidden by grass and vines. She had to push aside leaves and step carefully over roots. The trees here were tall and twisted, their branches bent like old people listening quietly. The air was still. The forest was quiet. Too quiet.This was the Withered Grove.Not many people came here anymore. It was said to be strange. Haunted, even. But Evelyn remembered it well. Her feet knew where to go, even if the path was covered and forgotten. She had walked this path before long ago.She had last come here when Elara was a child.Back when her daughter had big eyes full of questions. Back when Elara was curious about everything the stars, the flowers, even the quiet woman in the woods who spoke in riddles and brewed herbs in clay bowls.That woman the mystic still lived here.The moss-covered stone hut looked the same as Evelyn remembered. Old, small, round. Its stones were green with age, and vines curled up its sides like sleep

The stone corridor outside Evelyn’s chamber was silent, lit only by the flickering torchlight that cast long, swaying shadows on the wall. Adrian stood still, one hand resting flat against the cold, aged doorframe. His other hand was clenched tight at his side, the tension in his knuckles making his skin pale.He couldn’t bring himself to knock. Not yet.For weeks, he had been ignoring the truth he saw unfolding in quiet increments Evelyn’s quiet withdrawals from council meetings, her increasingly delicate steps, the way she masked her coughs behind handkerchiefs embroidered with forget-me-nots. There had been blood on one of them. She’d hidden it well, folding it and tucking it away quickly. But he had seen.And today it had been undeniable. He’d found her in Elara’s garden, kneeling in the soft earth, a thin tremor in her fingers as she reached out to touch the fire lilies. The flowers had always reminded them of their daughter. Evelyn had planted them the day after Elara’s funeral,