The first sunrise without Nitron looked strange through the windows of Vale House.
For years, the shutters had been drawn tight by order. Darkness suited him. Now the servants opened them wide, and pale morning light spilled across cracked marble floors, dust motes spinning in the air.
Elma stood in the hall with Calista, watching how quickly the house began to change. Servants no longer moved like shadows. They walked openly, whispering in groups, some laughing nervously as if remembering how. Guards leaned on spears, faces uncertain but looser than before.
Everything felt off balance, like a table missing one leg. Vale House had never been leaderless.
Calista leaned in slightly, her voice pitched low. "They're watching how you breathe, how you stand. Every glance is a test. They want to know if you'll claim the crown—or if you'll let it be taken from you."
Elma exhaled slowly. She'd never wanted a crown. But even without trying, people's eyes followed her now. She hated it and craved it in equal measure.
Later, they gathered the house staff in the courtyard. The ash from the Tower still clung to the flagstones. Elma stood before them, Calista beside her. The shard pulsed faintly in her chest, urging her to speak.
Her voice came rough but steady. "Nitron is gone. His leash, his chains, his cruelty—they end here. This house will not be ruled like that again."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Not cheers, not yet—but not silence either.
Calista stepped forward, her presence like sharpened glass. "You've all lived under his heel long enough to know what it means. If you want to leave, leave. If you want to stay, stay free. But understand this: we won't bow to anyone. Not the city, not the crown, not the shadows waiting to take his place."
The words hung in the courtyard, heavy as iron.
One by one, people nodded. A guard struck the butt of his spear against the stone. A servant lifted her chin. No one walked away.
Elma felt the shard stir, pleased. She ignored it.
That night, the east wing filled with quiet chatter and the clink of plates. A makeshift feast, though the wine was thin and the bread stale. Laughter sounded strange in these halls, but it grew louder as the hours passed.
Elma sat near the fire, shoulders finally easing. Calista leaned against her arm, eyes soft in the flicker of light.
"You see?" Calista whispered, her lips brushing Elma's ear. "They don't need a master. They only need to believe in something stronger than fear."
Elma glanced around at the faces—the same ones that had once knelt, beaten and silent. Now they shared food, whispered gossip, even smiles. "Stronger than fear," she repeated quietly.
She felt Calista's fingers slip into hers under the table, warm and steady. For the first time, Elma let herself believe it might be true.
But as the feast wound down and the fire burned low, Elma caught sight of a servant slipping out into the night. No hesitation. No cloak. Moving with purpose.
Messengers were already running.
Vale House's freedom wouldn't stay a secret for long.