The Whisper in the Empty Court
Ben's shoulders eased slightly as the silence settled deeper. The grand court, moments ago filled with voices and movement, now stood hollow—haunted by the faint echo of power that once filled it. The torches along the marble walls hissed quietly, their light casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and breathe with the room itself.
He turned toward the throne again. The pile of documents lay beside it, edges curled from long hours of handling—reports, trade ledgers, orders from distant divisions, sealed letters yet to be sent. Each page carried the pulse of a kingdom shifting beneath his feet. Slowly. Quietly. Dangerously.
He reached out, fingers brushing over the top sheet. The parchment was cool, smooth, but heavy in meaning. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at the inked signatures and figures that filled the page.
Then, in a voice that barely rose above a whisper, he asked the emptiness,
