The Quiet Command of Shadows
The echo of Varen's boots still lingered in the vast marble hall long after the doors shut behind him. His absence left a hollow stillness, the kind that carried weight—like the aftermath of thunder.
Ben remained seated on the throne for a moment, eyes fixed on the heavy doors that had closed behind his commander. The silence of the court pressed in around him. He could still feel the tension that had rippled through the chamber earlier—uneasy, taut, and reluctant to fade.
Slowly, he leaned back, his fingers resting on the armrest, tapping once. His gaze drifted across the remaining faces in the court—advisors, scribes, and ministers who lingered, uncertain whether to speak or stay silent. The air felt thick, like everyone was holding the same breath.
Finally, Ben exhaled, voice low but cutting through the stillness.
"Write a letter."
The chief advisor, an older man with lines carved deep around his eyes, straightened at once. "To whom, my lord?"
