Scene
The hall smelled of ash and old incense. Tapestries still hung, scorched at the edges; the tyrant’s banners were half-torn, their sigils already being knifed away by nervous stewards. On the dais, the blackened silver crown felt too heavy in Vear’s hand.
Seran Dorr stood at his shoulder, voice pitched for Vear alone. “Keep it on.”
Vear set the crown on the arm of the throne instead. “I won’t build another lie on top of yours.”
“That ‘lie’ stopped a riot,” Seran said, gaze flicking to the ranks of captains and clerks gathered below. “They needed a king in the square. In here, they need a decision.”
“My decision is no.” Vear’s tone was calm, the kind that carried without being raised. “I’m not bound to this world—or this time. I won’t sit a throne I can’t keep.”
Seran’s jaw tightened, but his words stayed even. “Then don’t call it a throne. Call it a bridge. Stand on it long enough to get them to the other side—until the council can breathe, until the garrisons hold, until the marauders learn there’s a spine in Durnhal again.”
Vear looked out over the hall. Faces lifted toward him—wary, bruised, expectant. Myra stood near the steps, a cloak around her shoulders, eyes bright with equal parts fear and stubborn hope.
“You made me their story,” Vear said.
“I made you their shelter,” Seran answered. “Just for a while.”
A captain knelt, fist to breastplate. One by one, others followed—steel rasping, a patchwork of loyalty and calculation settling like dust.
Vear picked up the crown. He did not put it on. He held it at his side and spoke so the room could hear.
Vear: “I won’t promise years. I won’t promise what I cannot keep. But while I am here, no hand will close on your throats. No blade will rise in the dark unchallenged. You will have order, and time to choose the shape of your future.”
A murmur moved through the hall—relief, confusion, something like belief.
Seran: “Then we start there.”
A chamberlain hurried up the steps, breathless. He stopped just short of the dais, eyes fixed on the floor. “My lord… a petitioner waits in the inner court.” He hesitated. “They say she hasn’t aged in decades.”
Vear and Seran exchanged a look—doubt, curiosity, a shared recognition that the bridge had already begun to sway.
Vear: “Show her in,” and the hall drew a breath.