THE KINGDOM
Part I — The Silence Beneath Stone
Velmora did not fall in a single night.
It hardened.
Like blood left too long in the cold.
The kingdom lay between mountains that curved like the ribs of a giant skeleton. From a distance, the capital of Cyrentha looked magnificent — spires rising into gray sky, banners snapping in disciplined wind, walls unbroken and immovable.
But those who lived inside the walls knew the truth.
The city did not breathe.
It endured.
The Cathedral stood at the center, carved from pale stone that never seemed to stain. Its bells rang every dawn and every dusk, marking time not by hours, but by obedience.
At the highest balcony stood the High Inquisitor, Lord Caedryn Vire.
He was not old, though rumors said he had survived three kings and buried two queens. His face was sharp, pale, unreadable. His black coat fell perfectly to the ground, lined in silver scripture meant to "resist corruption."
He did not believe in coincidence.
And lately, coincidence had been multiplying.
Fires that burned too hot.
Children who did not blister.
A prisoner who survived three days without water — and swore he felt warmth inside his veins instead of thirst.
Magic was returning.
Not loudly.
Not proudly.
But persistently.
And Velmora, built on suppression, had grown fragile.