The Pane was quiet. Too quiet.
Shards of the fallen boy still drifted through the air like dust in a shaft of light, fading before they touched the ground. The rebels knelt in silence, their reflections trembling in the fractured floor. No one dared move. No one dared breathe too loud.
Ren stood at the center, his crown still orbiting his head in perfect, slow spirals. The shards whispered faintly, like fragments of voices caught between life and mirror. His blade lowered, but his fractured eye gleamed bright enough that no one doubted he could raise it again in a heartbeat.
The Pane had a king now.
But kings needed thrones.
The girl in black dust straightened slowly, her eyes shining with amusement. "So decisive," she said, voice dripping with mock reverence. "The Pane has been waiting for someone like you, Ren. Someone ruthless enough to silence it."
Ren's gaze flicked toward her. "And what are you waiting for?"
