Chapter 15: When the Stillness Breaks

7 days before the King's audience

3 days before the kingdom's founding ceremony

The breeze that carried through Nareth'Mir that morning was softer than usual—less desert heat, more a whispered hush. Like the city itself was holding its breath. Laughter echoed through the sandstone corridors as colored silks were strung between towers, children balanced on crates to hang lanterns, and vendors swept their stalls not just with duty, but pride.

Fenric walked with a skewer of grilled meat in his hand, chewing lazily. "Why's everyone suddenly acting like they drank three cups of firewine?"

Niera glanced at him, lips twitching into a knowing smile. "The founding ceremony is in three days. This year's the 4,122nd. A full-cycle year. They say it's when the sky listens."

Sylvi looked upward. "Maybe that's why the stars felt strange last night."

Ayra gave a brief chuckle. "You say that like they ever feel normal."

They rounded a bend near the central plaza. Flags bearing the crest of Nareth'Mir—half-sun, half-circle—fluttered from rooftops. Fountains had been cleared and relit. The statue in the city center towered above them all, a faceless giant carved from basalt and obsidian, both arms resting over a sword plunged into the earth.

Kael lingered at the edge of the group, his gaze fixed on the statue. A quiet itch clawed at the back of his mind—not fear, but discomfort. The feeling of walking through a memory you hadn't lived.

Behind them, Graveth walked slower. He kept to the edge of the path, fingers occasionally brushing the brickwork of buildings or glancing at the sigils carved in stone.

At a mural of the city's founding, he paused. His brow furrowed, lips parting as if to speak.

Then he closed them.

When Sylvi called his name, he simply nodded and caught up.

Kael watched that moment and tucked it away in silence.

Three Days Later – Morning of the Ceremony

The sun rose golden and wide. Light touched every rooftop and filled the alleys with warmth. The smell of baked roots, sweet bread, and sun-dried spice drifted across the city like incense in worship.

At dawn, the streets were already full. Dancers wore ivory paint along their arms, musicians tuned sandflutes and kettledrums, and fabric merchants displayed bolts of handwoven silk the color of fire-dust and sky-bloom.

Kael and his companions stood in ceremonial tunics gifted by the guild—simple, elegant, and colored in woven gray and sun-cream hues. Even Fenric seemed subdued, his usual wisecracks silenced by the hum of energy in the air.

Niera looked upward to the Skybridge gates. "This is the first time I'll see him in person too," she murmured.

"Who?" Ayra asked.

Niera hesitated. "The King. Seridorn Eluval the Fourth."

Kael blinked. "Wait. You know his name?"

"Of course. He's been ruling since before I was born. The people don't speak it aloud during festivals. It's part reverence, part tradition."

Sylvi whispered, "A name held sacred. Like the statue."

Ayra muttered, "Or a warning unspoken."

Ceremony Begins

The drums sounded. Low and deep, like thunder wrapped in velvet. From atop the Skybridge archway came the figure of the King—tall, adorned in flowing indigo robes embroidered with threads of light. A circlet of ironwood and jade rested on his brow. No guards flanked him. No crown weighed him down.

Only silence walked with him.

The entire plaza of thousands fell into hush.

Kael and the others watched as the King stepped to the platform built at the base of the central statue. Its shadow fell across him—but he didn't seem small beneath it. He seemed like its voice.

He raised a hand, and the drums ceased.

"In the years that pass," King Seridorn began, his voice even and soft, "stone forgets the hand that shaped it."

No amplification. No enchantment. Yet all heard him.

"But memory is not built of stone alone. It lives in breath, in laughter, in songs children sing without knowing the words. And when we forget—truly forget—we let the night win."

He paused, letting the silence ripple again.

"Our kingdom did not begin with swords. It began with a single promise: that we would remember what made us human. That we would endure not through strength, but through kindness repeated a thousand-fold."

Ayra's arms had lowered. Fenric, jaw slack, blinked once as if surprised by the tightness in his chest.

Sylvi swallowed. "He's not just reciting history," she whispered. "He's reminding it."

Seridorn continued: "Even those who walk with burden are part of this breath. Even those who come from far... have something worth sharing."

Kael felt a strange warmth press at his sternum. Not power. Not magic. Just… belonging.

Then, the music returned—not from instruments, but voices.

A song older than the city itself.

Later – Fireworks and Fracture

Night fell, and with it came joy.

Children danced in circles, throwing glowing pebbles into the air that burst into flickering sparkles. Food spilled over platters, wine flowed like water, and even the statue seemed gentler beneath the torchlight.

Kael, Sylvi, Ayra, Fenric, and Niera sat on the steps of a watchtower, watching the final fireworks arc overhead.

Graveth was not with them. He stood on the southern parapet, gaze fixed outward.

Then—

One final firework rose.

A ring of violet and gold bloomed across the sky like a crown.

Silence followed.

Then a crack.

Not loud. A tear.

Above the desert beyond the walls—reality ripped open.

From it came a woman not cloaked in black—but in the absence of everything. A being shaped like a woman, but with hair like unraveling seams and eyes like distant stars. Her form moved not with gravity, but intention. She did not glow.

She devoured light.

She raised one hand.

And snapped her fingers.

Nareth'Mir's outer barrier shattered.

A wave of pure force exploded outward—buildings cracked, towers crumbled, the ground shook. The shockwave reached the central plaza, knocking people to their knees. Earth split. Roads bent. Fireworks died mid-air.

The woman hovered, her gaze falling on the city like judgment.

Then—

She vanished.

Folded into the air.

The crack closed behind her.

People screamed. Others froze. Guards scrambled. Cries echoed across the shattered outer ring.

But the statue—

It moved.

Its sword trembled.

Stone that had not shifted in four thousand years shivered.

Kael saw it.

So did Graveth.

No one else dared look.

Below the statue, the King's attendants rushed to form a barrier—but Seridorn raised his hand and held them back.

He simply stared at the statue.

And whispered to himself:

"So... you've remembered too."