CHAPTER SEVEN: THE KING'S FLAME (Part three)
The words didn't echo.
They settled—like ash on ancient stone.
King Vaelen didn't flinch.
But the fingers on his throne stopped tapping.
Timishu turned her head slightly toward Zephryn.
Not in threat.
Not in fear.
In something deeper—recognition.
"I didn't speak it to provoke you," Vaelen said, voice even.
"Then why speak it at all?"
Zephryn's tone didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
The pendant around his neck flared faintly in the pause.
Vaelen's gaze drifted to it.
"She was a soldier. A friend to the kingdom. She carried her duty with pride, even when it—"
"Stop."
It wasn't a yell.
It was a command.
And for a moment, the air bent around Zephryn's voice.
Timishu stepped forward.
Her robe didn't rustle.
Her feet made no sound.
But her presence filled the chamber like a blade being unsheathed in a room where no one dared move.
She stood halfway between them.
Spoke softly.
But her voice was the clearest thing in the room.
"You are shaking the gate."
Zephryn blinked.
"I didn't touch it."
Timishu's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You don't have to."
Vaelen rose, slowly.
Not in challenge.
In resignation.
"There are things you don't know, Zephryn."
The name sounded strange in his mouth.
Like he hadn't earned the right to say it.
"You came back with a pulse that doesn't belong to this realm."
Zephryn stepped forward.
Just once.
"The only thing that doesn't belong… is a king who forgets the names of the dead."