The midday sun hung high over the palace, its light pouring through the shattered windows of the council hall, bathing the room in a golden haze.
Dust motes swirled lazily in the beams, catching the eye like tiny sparks.
The air carried the sharp tang of fresh sawdust from Garrick's men working in the courtyard below, mingling with the lingering scent of roasted chicken from the previous night's feast and the faint, musty odour of damp stone that never quite left the palace.
Elara remained at the window, her fingers tracing the jagged edge of the sill, where flakes of old paint peeled away like dry skin.
The morning sun had climbed higher, warming the air and carrying the scent of fresh earth from the overgrown gardens below.
Dust particles swirled in the beams of light, catching like tiny stars, and for a moment, the ruined palace felt almost hopeful.
Lysandra stood beside her, arms crossed, her leather armour creaking faintly with each breath.
The maids, Brenna with her stack of parchments, Liora arranging a pitcher of water that sloshed softly.
Aveline, wiping down the table with a damp cloth that smelled of vinegar, hovered nearby, their movements efficient but laced with the weariness of endless tasks.
The lists on the table grew longer, ink drying in hasty scrawls: timber needs, mortar recipes, assignments for the guards to scout quarries.
Yet, beneath the productivity, a quiet frustration simmered. The palace was vast, the kingdom vaster still, and their efforts felt like bailing a sinking ship with a thimble.
Elara turned from the window, her blue gown whispering against the stone as she moved back to the table.
Her pale hair caught the light, framing her face in a soft halo, but her eyes held a shadow of doubt. "All this planning," she said, her voice steady but tinged with exhaustion, "and yet the roofs still leak, the walls crumble.
What if..." She paused, a wry smile tugging at her lips, as if the thought were half-jest, half-desperation.
"What if I just wish that this palace and the entire kingdom should come back to how it was before, and finer? With more gold threading the tapestries, diamonds set into the chandeliers like stars, and crystal designs etching the windows to sparkle in the sun.
"The people's houses would become finer and stable, with sturdy marble facades and thatched roofs turned to tile and strong walls around the kingdom, very high and unyielding, towers piercing the sky to ward off any threat."
The words hung in the air, whimsical and absurd, like a child's fairy tale spun in the midst of grim reality.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned, broken only by the distant thud of hammers. Then Brenna snorted, her brisk demeanour cracking into a chuckle, ink-stained fingers covering her mouth.
Liora followed, her soft laughter bubbling up like a hidden spring, her cheeks flushing pink.
Aveline joined in, leaning on her broom, the sound bright and unexpected in the dim hall.
Even Lysandra's sharp features softened, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile as she let out a low, amused laugh, her hand resting lightly on Elara's shoulder.
"Oh, my Empress," Brenna managed between breaths, wiping a tear from her eye. "If only wishes were that simple! We'd have feasts every night and beds of silk."
Liora nodded, giggling. "And no more scrubbing grease from tables— the stains would vanish on their own!"
Aveline's laughter tapered into a grin. "Imagine the guards in gleaming armour, not this rusted scrap. A fine dream, my lady."
Lysandra squeezed Elara's shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. "You'd bleed us all dry with such magic, my love. But it's a pretty picture."
The shared mirth filled the room, a brief oasis of lightness amid the ruins.
Elara laughed too, her voice joining theirs, the sound echoing off the cracked walls like a melody long forgotten.
It felt good, cathartic, even, as if the absurdity of the wish washed away the morning's tensions. Yet, as the laughter faded, a subtle unease crept in.
Brenna shifted uncomfortably, her smile faltering.
Liora's eyes darted to the floor, where a faint vibration hummed through the stone, almost imperceptible, like the distant rumble of thunder.
Aveline gripped her broom tighter, her knuckles whitening. Lysandra's hand stilled on Elara's shoulder, her gaze sharpening as the air grew thick, heavy with an unspoken turmoil.
Elara felt it too, a stirring deep within her, as if her words had awakened something dormant.
Her nose prickled, a familiar warning, but before she could speak, the ground trembled more noticeably.
The table rattled, ink pots clinking together, and a loose candle holder toppled with a metallic clang. Dust sifted from the ceiling, pattering down like fine rain.
"What—" Brenna started, her voice cutting off as the tremor intensified.