CHAPTER SEVEN: THE KING'S FLAME (Part six)
Zephryn turned without a word.
His boots echoed across the stone—once, twice, then faded.
He didn't wait for dismissal.
He didn't bow.
He didn't need to.
The pendant at his chest pulsed again—slower now, like a breath held between storms.
Not angry.
Not afraid.
Aligned.
As the doors creaked open behind him, the throne room didn't resist.
It let him leave.
Almost like it wanted to.
Like it had been waiting years for someone to speak what no one else dared say.
Timishu remained motionless.
But as the door sealed behind Zephryn, she finally looked to the king.
"You knew this was coming."
Vaelen didn't answer right away.
Then:
"I hoped it wouldn't."
Outside, the corridor was still.
Bubbalor waited in the shadows.
Didn't hum.
Didn't blink.
Just turned as Zephryn stepped past, walking toward the light of the Lyceum halls.
The pendant was warm against his skin.
His pulse was steady.
And somewhere far beneath the castle,
a hidden glyph
flared for the first time in years.