There is a silence after war that feels… foreign.
Too still.
Too clean.
It's like the world is holding its breath, unsure if it's allowed to start again.
Maravelle was quiet.
Not because it had nothing to say.
But because it was finally allowed to listen.
---
Three Days After
The fires had been tamed.
The dead had been counted.
And the banners that once hung black and torn were now stitched in golden thread, billowing gently in the morning breeze.
Eira stood barefoot in the palace gardens, ash beneath her toes, wearing nothing but a simple linen dress that clung damply to her skin.
The scent of scorched roses still lingered. Some blooms had survived the blaze—petals rimmed in soot, proud and stubborn.
Like her.
Her hands trembled as she touched the dirt. It had been her mother's favorite spot. She remembered the lullabies sung here, the warmth of her mother's voice humming under the stars.
She had made it.
She had lived.
But… not all of her did.
---
Kael's Walls
Kael hadn't come to bed.
Not since the night Elowen fell.
Instead, he was in the training yard before sunrise, sword in hand, shirt soaked in sweat, movements too precise to be anything but an attempt to quiet the storm in his chest.
He was a prince now. Or so they told him.
He didn't feel like one.
He still bled like a soldier. Still walked like one. Still flinched when someone said his name too softly.
Naima approached from the edge of the yard, cloak drawn tightly around her.
"She's asking for you."
"I know," he said.
"You've been avoiding her."
"I know that, too."
Naima didn't press. She only looked at him with the kind of love that made it hurt more.
"She needs her anchor," she said gently.
"She needs a king," Kael whispered.
Naima paused.
"Or maybe… she just needs Kael."
---
Their Quiet
Eira was on the balcony when he finally came.
She didn't look at him. Just held out a cup of tea.
He took it.
They stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder, the sunrise washing them in light.
"I'm not a prince," he said finally.
"I don't want a prince," she answered.
He glanced at her.
"I'm not a king either."
She turned to him, eyes fierce.
"Then be mine."
And he broke.
The walls, the armor, the duty.
He set the cup down and kissed her like a drowning man finally breathing. Like the world had ended—and then chosen to begin again with her.
Her hands found his face.
"You are the storm and the shelter," she whispered.
And he pulled her close.
"I love you," he said, the words rough but certain.
She smiled against his lips.
"Then stay."
---
A New Throne
Maravelle did not return to the world it had been.
It became something new.
A city ruled not by fear, but by fire and forgiveness.
The palace opened its gates.
The queen walked among her people barefoot.
The prince built schools where there had been prisons.
And each evening, they met on the same balcony, watched the sun fall, and shared the quiet.
---
But Peace Has Its Shadows
And far to the west… across a sea no map had dared to name…
A darkness stirred.
Older than Elowen.
Older than the Flame.
Eyes opened in the void.
And they whispered a name only the stars remembered.
Eira.