The first light of dawn crept through the palace windows — thin, cold, and colorless. It brushed the marble floors in pale streaks, gilding the silence that lingered between the King and his captain.
Arven's words still hung in the air.
"Then… there is hope, my lord?"
The King did not answer at once. His gaze lingered on the horizon — the faint blush of morning reflected in the window's glass.
Finally, he spoke, voice low and deliberate. "Hope, Captain, is a fragile thing. Yet it survives where reason fails."
He turned back toward Arven, studying the man's bowed posture, the tension in his clasped hands. "Rise."
Arven obeyed at once, head still lowered. "Majesty."
The King's tone remained calm, but there was weight beneath it. "You said she suffers unjustly. Do you have proof beyond pity?"
Arven drew a breath, steadying himself. "I do, sire. Another report arrived this morning — a palace servant claims the girl attacked her with a glowing object while trying to escape the courtyard."
The King's brow furrowed. "Escaped? She is still confined below."
"Yes, Majesty," Arven said grimly. "The claim is false, but it has spread fast. The same servant was once startled by the girl in the streets — She had leapt from a cart to tease her. That old mischief now twisted into evidence. The court finds it convenient."
The King's eyes darkened. "Chains upon a child," he muttered.
Arven bowed deeper, one fist pressed to his chest. "If I have erred, it is mine to bear. But I swear upon my life, Majesty—whatever her faults, she does not appear the monster they claim her to be. She seems… used."
At that moment, the side door opened quietly. Kael, the royal aide, entered with silent precision. His silver-blue hair caught the early light, his brown eyes sharp and composed. He bowed deeply, one hand pressed over his chest, the other at his side.
"You summoned me, Sire?"
"Come," the King said, gesturing him closer. "Hear what Arven speaks."
Kael stepped forward, posture straight, expression unreadable. "Yes, Majesty."
The King turned again to Arven. "You said you do not believe she sought the relic for herself. Why?"
Arven lifted his head slightly, careful to keep his tone respectful. "Majesty, she cannot be more than thirteen summers old. I have seen her before — wild, reckless, but full of laughter. Mischief, yes. Malice, no. She never harmed anyone. To think she could weave this entire deception alone… I cannot."
He hesitated, then continued, "The reports that followed — the chaos in the vaults, the fires, the poisons — they reek of planning. Too much for a child. There were others, perhaps the cloaked men, hiding behind her shadow. And whoever they are… they likely aren't aware yet that she is already caught."
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly, though he did not interrupt.
The King's hand stroked his beard in thought. "The cloaked men…" he murmured. "Yes. Whispers of them reached even the early reports. Yet none have been caught."
Arven bowed once more. "Majesty, that is why I came. I cannot clear her name without uncovering theirs."
Kael finally spoke, his tone calm, precise. "If these men exist, Sire, and if they still move beyond the city, then the girl's life is in greater danger than the court imagines. Should they learn she survives, they will not allow her to speak."
The King's gaze sharpened. "Then she cannot be left to wither in chains."
He straightened, authority radiating in the measured cadence of his words. "Captain Arven. You feel guilt—then let it guide your service. If you wish to defend this child's innocence, do not waste time here in remorse. Find the cloaked men. Any trace, any whisper. Bring me proof."
The words struck Arven like a release. He lowered to one knee once again, voice rough but steady.
"Majesty… you would entrust this to me?"
The King's expression softened, just slightly. "You are the one who watched her suffer, and the one who could not look away. Go then, Captain. Find the truth before the court buries it."
Arven bowed his head deeply, the sound of armor brushing stone. "By my oath and by my sword, I will not fail you, my lord. I will not rest until they are found."
The King gave a slow nod of assent. "Rise."
Kael's eyes followed Arven quietly — measuring him, weighing the sincerity in every motion. When Arven stepped back and saluted once more, Kael spoke in his calm, composed voice.
"Majesty, this course carries risk. If the court learns you doubt their verdict—"
The King lifted a hand, silencing him. "I am not blind, Kael. If they would rather silence a child than seek truth, it is they who dishonor the throne."
Kael bowed deeply, one hand to his chest, his tone grave with loyalty. "As you command, Sire. I will make quiet preparations. Eyes will be placed where they are needed."
The King turned toward the window once more, dawn now fully spilling across the horizon.
"Good," he said softly. "Let the sun rise to truth… not blood."
Arven walked out moving for his orders.
The chamber had long grown cold.
Only the faint hiss of the hearth filled the silence between the King and his aide.
Kael stood by the desk, posture rigid but eyes sharp. Maps, sealed letters, and half-burnt reports lay scattered across the table—evidence of a truth still buried too deep to grasp.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the crown itself. The King leaned back, his expression unreadable, staring out the tall window where the city's lanterns shimmered faintly through the fog—a capital bright on the surface, but rotting beneath.
At last, he spoke, voice quiet yet laced with strain.
"The judges twist every question. Arven was right. The child may not even live long enough to see her fate decided."
Kael's hesitation was brief, but visible. His loyalty warred with conscience.
"Your Majesty… perhaps it is time to consider intervening openly."
The King turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "And if I shield her unjustly? If she truly bears guilt, what then? You've seen the reports—fires, theft, the broken wards. All traced back to her. Any man would believe it."
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "A king who bends truth for pity becomes unworthy of the throne."
Kael stepped forward, tone careful but steady. "Then test the truth differently. The cloaked men—you already suspected them. If they are found, if their role is proven, you'll know whether the girl is the hand or the pawn."
The King's breath left him heavy and low. His eyes fell to the maps again—circles drawn around key alleys, hidden inns, the Velvet Sphinx marked in dark ink. "Yes… Arven will search. If he brings even a fragment of truth, I will lay it before the court myself."
But when his gaze lifted again, grief dulled its sharpness. "And if she dies before then…" he whispered.
Kael's jaw tightened; for once, he did not hide the anger beneath his calm.
"Then Eldis will remember this tribunal not as justice—but as cruelty. And her death will stain us all."
The words struck deep.
The King sat still for a long time, shadows moving like judgment across his face. Finally, he gave a faint nod.
"Then keep her alive," he said quietly. "Until Arven returns… at any cost."
Kael bowed again, but his hands were clenched at his sides.
"As you command, Your Majesty. I will not let another innocent die under our silence."
The King's hand came to rest briefly on his shoulder—a silent acknowledgment of the burden they shared.
"Arven will lead the search," he said at last. "He knows what to look for. You take the rest—place them in the prison, unseen, unheard. If there's poison or tampering, I want it uncovered."
Kael straightened. "Then I will see to both—her survival, and the shadow around it."
The King's reply came low, final. "Go. Time bleeds faster than truth."
That night, the palace corridors whispered with quiet urgency.
Arven stood in the armory's glow, tightening the straps of his armor.
The torchlight danced across his face, sharpening the lines of exhaustion and purpose both. His sword hung at his side, the weight of duty familiar, but heavier than before.
Behind him, boots approached.
Kael's voice came low but firm.
"The King has given the order. You are to hunt the cloaked men. Your men at the prison will remain behind, under my direction."
Arven turned, the flicker of guilt plain in his eyes. "If she dies while I'm gone—"
"She won't," Kael cut in, though his tone carried no certainty. "I'll see to it myself."
The Captain bowed deeply. "Then I'll not waste the chance he's given me."
Kael hesitated before replying. "Then go. And do not return empty-handed."
When Arven returned briefly to the lower cells, the stench of damp stone and iron met him. The medic was still there—ashen, sweating—his hands trembling as he tried to coax a few drops of water past Suzan's cracked lips.
Suzan was slumped against the wall, clutching at her chest.
Each breath came ragged and wet, a sound too fragile for life. The cup trembled in the medic's hands.
"Steady her!" he barked.
Arven rushed forward, dropping to his knees. He caught her small shoulders—but she was light, too light, her body jerking weakly beneath his grip.
"Easy, Suzan," he whispered, voice fraying. "Easy now."
Her lips parted, a faint tremor of sound—half a laugh, half a gasp—but no words came. Only a faint streak of blood at the corner of her mouth.
Arven's stomach turned to ice. This wasn't mere illness.
This was something eating her alive.
When at last her breathing steadied to a frail rhythm, he rose, knuckles white.
He looked to the medic. "She'll live through the night?"
"I don't know," the medic murmured, voice hollow. "But she's still fighting."
Arven nodded once, though the gesture carried more grief than hope.
Later, in the barracks, the news spread fast.
"Captain Arven is leaving—the King's ordered him to hunt the cloaked men."
One by one, his soldiers came forward, ten in all—faces he'd trusted through years of battle and blood.
They stood before him, silent, until one finally spoke.
"Captain," said the first, voice steady but burning, "let us come. We've seen her with our own eyes. If she dies in that cell without justice… we'll carry that shame forever too."
Another stepped up. "We can't just stand by. Not anymore."
Arven studied them—the same guilt mirrored in every face. Slowly, he gave a short nod.
"Then you'll come. But listen well: half stay behind. You are to watch her—no matter the orders from above. She is not to be left to rot. Keep her alive until I return. That is an order."
The guards straightened at once. "Yes, Captain!"
He turned to the seven who would ride with him. "We hunt the cloaked men. You all know their faces—the ones seen at the Velvet Sphinx. And the ones we saw at the vaults memory fragment. If we find even one, we find the thread that unravels this." His hand fell to his sword. "And perhaps… save her."
The men saluted, silent but resolute.
And as they stepped out into the cold night, boots striking the marble in unison, the torches behind them wavered in the draft—small flames carried by loyalty and guilt alike.
Far above, Kael watched from the high balcony as their forms vanished through the gates.
Then he turned and descended toward the prison, the echo of his steps lost in the endless corridors below.
In the royal study, the King stood alone beside the dying fire, the faint light glinting off his crown. His gaze lingered on the empty chair across from him—the one Kael had left behind.
"Find the truth," he murmured to no one. "Before it finds us first."