Morning came late in the safehouse. No one stirred early. They had all collapsed in exhaustion, bodies battered and minds spinning.
Torik awoke to quiet murmuring. The kind of quiet that preceded important things.
He sat up slowly, muscles stiff, back aching. The bandages held. Ithren had done good work. The Crown still lay wrapped and locked away in the satchel beside the makeshift table.
Kell stood near the hearth, arms folded, watching the small flame dance in the brazier. Ithren was already hunched over parchment, scribbling with her usual fervor. Dama and Whistle leaned against the wall, sharing a crust of bread.
As Torik stirred, Kell turned. "Morning, boy."
"I feel like I got stepped on by a horse."
"You look worse," Whistle offered. "Want some bread to help with that limp? It's only been chewed once."
Torik smirked and waved him off.
Kell nodded toward the table. "We need to talk."
The group gathered around, the Crown sitting at the center again, as if it demanded audience. The cloth covering it didn't stop the unease it projected.
Kell began. "We all know what we took. And we all know what it means. But there's a bigger question now, what in the name of The First King do we do with it?"
Dama leaned forward. "We need to talk about the current king."
Kell raised a brow.
"The Crown is royal property, isn't it? It was in his vault. That means the Bound didn't steal it. They were given it."
"By the king himself," Ithren said. Her voice was low, careful. "Or his court. Which may be worse."
Dama scowled. "Which means the king's either a fool or complicit. Either way, he's not fit to rule."
Kell didn't speak.
"We need someone else on that throne," Dama continued. "Someone who won't let a cult of blood-drenched fanatics use divine relics to make monsters."
Torik raised an eyebrow. "You want to instill a king? You realize we're five people in a sewer."
Dama shrugged. "We were five people in a sewer yesterday too. And now we have this." She gestured to the Crown.
Ithren looked between them. "Let's say you're right. Let's say we don't trust the king. Let's say we somehow had the means. Who would you even instill?"
Kell didn't move.
He just looked at Torik.
A beat of silence passed.
Torik blinked. "What?"
Kell said nothing.
Torik raised an eyebrow and shook his head slowly. "Absolutely not. Don't look at me like that."
Whistle leaned back and swung his boots up onto the table with a thump. "Why not Kell?"
Everyone turned.
"Think about it," Whistle said. "Stands tall. Voice like thunder. Doesn't smile much. That's half the job right there."
Kell groaned. "Whistle..."
"No no, hear me out! You're respected. You're fair. You got a solid jawline, yes that's important. And most of all, you hate politics. Which means you won't use the power for fun."
Torik laughed, wincing from his back. "You're serious?"
"Deadly."
Ithren tilted her head. "It... isn't the worst idea."
Kell shook his head. "No. I'm a soldier, not a king."
"Exactly," Dama said. "I've fought beside you. I've watched men follow you into fire because they believed you'd lead them out again. I haven't known a more worthy man."
Kell stared at the fire again.
The silence stretched.
"You don't have to decide now," Ithren said. "But we can't ignore the idea anymore. Not after what we've seen."
The Crown pulsed.
No brighter, no louder. But it felt... closer. As if it approved.
Kell cleared his throat. "Let's change tracks."
"Please," Torik muttered.
"We still have a cracked artifact in our possession. That means it's vulnerable. And wherever Tharoghul is, he wants out."
Ithren tapped her fingers. "There was a plan. Originally. Back when the Bound sent the crown. They were supposed to escort the Crown to Keep Ysara, to the artificer in residence."
"The one with the inked hands and missing thumb?" Whistle asked.
"Master Grellin," Kell confirmed. "One of the few men alive who might understand how to repair it. If he hasn't been replaced."
Dama frowned. "And you think he's still there?"
"If they haven't moved the project, yes." Ithren replied.
"Then we sneak back to Valebast," Kell said. "Use one of the old Bound tunnels. Hope we're not on every wall by now."
"We probably are," Whistle said.
"Doesn't change what we need to do," Torik said quietly.
They looked at him.
"If the Crown breaks, there might be no putting Tharoghul back. If it can even be done."
Ithren nodded. "We go. We stay off roads. No signs. No names."
Kell exhaled slowly. "Then let's eat, pack, and move. No more delays."
They rose. The fire crackled. Plans solidified.
In the center of the room, the Crown sat silent.
But not still.