Thishe will shove down too. Nothing will get in the way of his Starbound’s crown. Not politics. Not gods. Not the Decay.And not his fucking grief.
He gives the maids instructions to prepare his sister’s body for burial in the sacred grounds of the Temple of Endings. He’d take her with Daelen and Merrik. Give them all a god’s burial in Black Heart Belt amongst the zarethite and gems that are beginning to form again. He’d honor them in the way they deserve.
He stands from his sister’s floor, leathers pulled taut around honed muscles, and wipes the blood from his hands on the remaining fabric from the sheet. He draws in a long inhale, as if it’s enough to center him. He forces it steady, as though controlis still his to claim. He drags his hands down his face, smearing salt and sweat through his stubble.
And he walks. He walks because stopping would mean feeling it, and he cannot survive that. So he does what he has always done—he keeps moving. He does not give himself a choice.
He forces his legs to move. To carry him forward in a way that Nalya never will again. The world does not stop for grief. It simply expects you to keep moving inside it.
His boots land heavy and intimidating on the obsidian floors.
Kryntar Castle still remembers how to be beautiful.
Light spills down from the vaulted arches in pale, reverent shafts, catching on silver-veined stone and the polished black of the floors worn smooth by centuries of rule. Murals line the ceilings—old victories, lost gods.
And yet, something lingers.
The beauty feels… forced. As if the castle has drawn itself tight around a wound that has not fully healed. Shadows cling to the corners of the hall. The sconces stutter like they’re too afraid to burn brightly in here. Even the great throne room he strides into—cleansed, reforged, resplendent—still bears the memory of Maldrak’s reign, as though the stone itself learned his shape and has not yet forgotten it.
Kael’s boots strike the floor, the sound echoing up into the vaulted ceiling, and the room answers him—beautiful, obedient, and watchful—as if nothing in this world has changed.But everything has.
He ignores the pulsing Decay as if he can’t feel the way it slithers through his veins, up toward his mind. As if he can’t feel the way it tries to claw out of his skin and unfurl itself.
His heavy footfalls announce his arrival.
Tales from the war council halt.
Laughter ceases.
And silence awaits him.
He steps over the threshold, gaze steady and severe.
The war council stares at their king.
Waiting.
Everyone thinks he’s leading. But really, he’s holding the world together so it doesn’t fall apart around him.
Elyssara’s emerald-green eyes find his, and the silver lightning striking through his ocean eyes flares in recognition, as if it knows that home is not a place—it is her.
Ronyn’s face splits into a lop-sided smile. “I was hoping you’d start wearing those frilly shirts and long coats the kings seem to favor. You’ve got the look of a man who could do frilly,” he teases.
And Kael relishes the way Ronyn allows him to slip back into reality.
Kael returns a huff of laughter, allowing that half-smirk to tilt his mouth. “Leather and armor will do for me, regardless of the title,” he returns smoothly.
“Shame,” Ronyn muses, though he hardly looks as if it’s a shame at all.
Kael takes his seat at the head of the oak table, pride surging through his chest with Teddy at his right, and Elyssara, his Starbound, already seated at his left.
Grief spikes, sharp and inescapable, and so does guilt.
Can pride so easily bloom where grief has planted seeds? Or is this what it means to survive—to feel everything at once, and call it strength?
Elyssara sees the shift, and her warm, passionate light scratches at his mind again, but he dismisses it.
“We’ve had ten days to enjoy this victory. That ends now. I know you’re all aware, but it begs repeating: we are not truly free, not victorious. Not until Dravara is,” Kael’s voice is harsh,restrained, with an edge of brutality that doesn’t quite fit. The words come too easily. Too clean. Like he rehearsed them instead of lived them.
