As the chants of "Kaelion!" finally quieted and the crowd began to thin, nobles, soldiers, and officials alike stepped forward—offering aid, allegiance, condolences wrapped in opportunism.
Kael received them all with a gracious nod, but nothing more.
Polite refusal masked quiet disdain.
He didn't trust a single one of them.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Selene, still close beside him, leaned in with her usual deadpan calm.
"So," she murmured, "where are we going, oh beloved Master?"
Kael didn't answer at first.
Instead, a memory flickered across his mind—warm and sudden.
Nyra's face.
The rare scent of herbs and bread.
A quiet chapel at dusk.
The way she looked at him without fear.
He smiled.
Just slightly.
Selene caught it.
But said nothing.
"I know a place," Kael finally said. "It's quiet. Safer than here."
Without another word, they vanished into the dark—leaving behind banners, blood, and belief.
***
