The cell hadn't changed.
The air was still damp. The walls still breathed faintly with the hum of the palace above. The only new thing was time — and Nhilly had stopped counting that long ago.
He sat with his back against the stone, staring at the faint light that trickled through the bars. It wasn't sunlight — just the artificial glow of the upper hall lamps. Still, it was enough to paint him in ghostly gold.
Three months had passed since they locked him here.
Three months since Seris.
His wrists were still bound by thin iron cuffs, the kind meant for show. The guards didn't even bother checking them anymore. They knew or maybe they didn't that Nhilly could leave whenever he wished.
He'd tested it once.
Gravity folded at a whisper. The metal had trembled, bent like paper, and then stopped because he'd stopped it.
He could have walked out. Slipped through the corridors. Vanished into the city.
But he didn't.
He had nowhere to go.
And worse, no reason to.
"What's the point?" he murmured, tracing a finger along the dirt between the stones. His voice barely carried, the sound swallowed by the stillness.
The candle near the door flickered, its flame bending toward him as though listening.
He let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. "Funny. For all their power, even the gods need someone to keep the play going."
He wasn't wrong.
The "heroes," as the court still called them, hadn't been allowed to leave the palace since the news of Seris's death. The council called it a quarantine, but everyone knew what it really was — containment.
The Constellations still demanded a show.
And the show could not end like this.
So the others were forced to smile for the cameras figurative or divine while pretending the cracks weren't spreading.
Every week, they came down to visit him.
Celeste always brought light literally and otherwise. She'd sit cross-legged near the bars, talking softly about how the palace gardens had finally begun to bloom again. She'd try to laugh, but the sound never reached her eyes.
"You should come see it," she said one afternoon, pressing a small vial of enchanted water through the bars. "They'd let you, if you asked."
Nhilly shook his head. "They wouldn't stop me if I didn't."
Celeste sighed. "Then why stay?"
"Because walking out wouldn't change what this place is."
She frowned. "And what's that?"
Nhilly smiled faintly. "A reminder."
Kael visited less often, though he always brought food, real food, not rations. He'd set it down wordlessly, study Nhilly for a long moment, then finally say, "You should stop punishing yourself."
Nhilly would shrug. "You mistake comfort for punishment"
"I mistake living for survival," Kael would reply, just as tired.
Eli's visits were the loudest.
He'd arrive with his usual swagger, pretending not to care, but Nhilly could see the unease in his eyes.
"Still breathing, old man?" Eli would joke, leaning against the bars. "Place like this'll rot your soul."
"Good." Nhilly answered once.
Eli's grin faltered. "That's not funny."
"It's not supposed to be."
After that, Eli didn't visit for a while.
A month passed.
The heroes were finally released from quarantine, Nhilly remained where he was. The council called him dangerous. The Constellations called him dramatic. The others called him stubborn.
The truth was simpler:
He was tired.
The others came to tell him the news together all three of them, standing outside the cell like shadows of what they used to be.
Kael spoke first. "They're reinstating us. We're to attend the next summit."
"Summit," Nhilly echoed, his tone dry. "You mean performance."
Eli crossed his arms. "It's the same thing."
"They'll ask about Seris," Celeste said quietly. "What do you want us to tell them?"
Nhilly didn't answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was quiet softer than any of them had ever heard.
"Tell them the truth."
Celeste frowned. "And what's that?"
"That she was too good for this stage and they killed her."
For a moment, none of them spoke. The silence was thick enough to choke on.
Finally, Kael said, "You could still come with us. We'd vouch for you."
Nhilly's eyes flicked up, faintly amused. "And ruin the image? The broken hero makes for a better story."
Eli slammed a fist against the bars. "Damn it, Nhilly, this isn't a story!"
Nhilly tilted his head. "You sure about that?"
The silence that followed was unbearable. Even the air seemed to hesitate.
Then Nhilly leaned back against the wall again, closing his eyes. "Go on. The audience is waiting."
One by one, they left.
Celeste lingered last, her voice trembling when she finally spoke. "We'll come back next week."
Nhilly smiled faintly, not opening his eyes. "You always do."
When her footsteps faded, he sat alone again, surrounded by silence.
Outside, faintly, the bells of the cathedral began to ring announcing another day in a world that refused to stop turning.
Nhilly stared at the bars. The candle beside him flickered, its flame bending toward him again.
He whispered, "I could break you. All of this. Right now."
But the words that followed came quieter, almost like a prayer.
"…But what would be the point?"