Dreadhold had not known silence in centuries. Not since the uprising. Not since Kael had taken the throne.
And now, in the wake of the quake that split the heart of the capital, silence hung like a curse.
A crack ran down the obsidian wall of the citadel's southern tower, etched by the tremor Kael had unleashed. Dust still clung to the air. People—soldiers, citizens, servants—moved in half-whispers, afraid to speak too loudly, as if sound itself might shatter what fragile calm remained.
Inside the Heartspire, the Dread King lay on a stone bed, unmoving.
Lyra sat beside him, her hands folded, eyes bloodshot. She hadn't left his side in hours. The moment his body gave out in the square—after the Eye had surged again—she had rushed to catch him. Even now, she could feel the echo of that power, that alien will scraping behind his gaze before he fell.
The door opened softly. Valdran stepped in, gaze flicking to Kael before settling on Lyra.
"He hasn't stirred?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No fever. No wounds. But it's like… something inside him is cracking."
Valdran approached slowly. "He drew too deep. Again."
Lyra stood, her voice low and sharp. "And yet we keep doing nothing about it. We talk and watch and wait, as if this thing will pass on its own."
"Would you rather I chain him to the throne?" Valdran snapped, then sighed. "Forgive me. I'm tired."
"We all are."
She looked back to Kael. A flicker of motion—his hand clenched, just barely.
Valdran didn't miss it. "He's fighting something. Still."
They were interrupted by a knock. Eclipse stepped in alone, her silver eyes serious.
"We've returned from the capital walls," she said. "The people… are afraid. They say the earth screamed."
"Any talk of rebellion?" Valdran asked, tone wary.
"Not yet. But omens have begun to spread—dead birds on rooftops, blood in the river. And the cult…" She hesitated. "Their markings were found again. In the slums. Fresh ones."
Valdran cursed under his breath.
Lyra's jaw clenched. "They're getting bolder."
"And the Thorns," Eclipse added, glancing between them. "They are fracturing."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "How?"
"Raen and Korran openly argued this morning. Valdran was named unfit. I heard one suggest we find a new king."
Silence.
Valdran looked toward Kael's sleeping form. "The timing isn't coincidence. Something's stirring. They can feel it."
"We need unity," Lyra said. "We need to remind them what Kael is fighting for."
"He's barely standing," Valdran replied. "And the shadows are only growing thicker."
Later That Night
Lyra walked through Dreadhold alone. She had donned her cloak again, blending into the corridors, ignoring the stares and murmurs. It was important she be seen—not as a princess or consort, but as someone still standing when others fled.
She reached the lower keep, where a group of townsfolk had gathered near the gates. A healer spoke to a wounded boy, his arms burned by magical backlash from the quake. His mother wept quietly.
Lyra knelt beside her, offering words, comfort, a coin.
One old man looked up at her and whispered, "Will the Dread King protect us? Even now?"
She didn't hesitate. "He always has."
But as she walked away, her heart twisted. How long could she keep making that promise
In the war room, the Thorns had gathered. Tension crackled like static.
Korran's fists were clenched. "We wait too long. If the king cannot lead, we must."
Raen frowned. "Mind your tongue. You speak as if betrayal is bravery."
"Look outside!" Korran roared. "The people are scared. The cult moves in shadow. And our king lies unconscious while the sky splits open!"
Luna, perched by the window, growled. "You dare speak against Kael? After all he's done?"
"He is our heart," Eclipse said quietly. "But even hearts can bleed dry."
No blows were thrown. Not yet. But the air was thick with the promise of violence.
And all the while, outside the keep… the blood moon rose higher.
That night, Kael finally awoke.
Lyra was asleep beside him, her head resting against his chest.
He opened his eyes slowly.
He did not remember what happened after the quake.
But deep within him, something pulsed—no longer dormant.And far beneath Dreadhold, something ancient stirred in response.