The silence was deafening.
Darian stood at the cliff's edge, the winds of the Khaeldrim Highlands battering his long coat as memories he had buried for years began to claw their way back to the surface. Behind him, the land still smoldered from the skirmish—ashes of war scattered like snowflakes, the scent of scorched steel and burnt skin clinging to the air.
He didn't turn around as footsteps crunched behind him. He already knew who it was.
"You're quiet," said Kaelin, his voice subdued.
"I have to be," Darian replied, his eyes locked on the horizon. "The moment I speak, I might remember what it means to be king again."
Kaelin said nothing. He simply stood beside him, waiting.
