The capital of Winterbell welcomed them in somber silver: snow curling along the marble streets, bells tolling softly in the distance. But there was no celebration this time. No grand announcement of their return. Only whispers… and the cold.
Flynn walked beside Elior through the palace gates. The warmth of the hearth inside could not chase away the questions building in his chest.
Since the ruins, Seren had not appeared again. Not even in dream. Not even in whisper. Flynn had begun to wonder if it was all in his head. But something had shifted. He could feel it.
The quiet before the storm.
Later that evening, Elior found him alone in the old conservatory, where frost gathered on the glass and the moon spilled over ancient roses.
"You've been distant," Elior said gently, stepping closer.
Flynn didn't look up. "There's much on my mind."
"I know. I was there, remember?"
Flynn allowed a ghost of a smile. "That's what makes it harder."
Elior sat beside him, shoulder just brushing his. "Do you not trust me?"
"I do," Flynn replied. "That's why I don't want to tell you everything."
Elior tilted his head, golden hair glinting under moonlight. "Because you think I'll leave?"
Flynn looked at him then, and in his violet eyes, Elior saw the same expression Caelan once wore a man burdened with too many lives, too many deaths.
"No," Flynn said quietly. "Because if you knew… you'd be forced to choose."
Elior's heart clenched. "Between you and Khalid."
The name hung between them like a sword suspended in the air.
Flynn said nothing. He didn't need to.
He stood and left the room before he said something unforgivable.
That same night, Khalid knelt alone before the royal map in the war chamber. His black hair was still damp from snow, golden eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar territory marked in red.
Avenhal.
A name from olden times. From when gods still walked the earth and men dared to challenge them. And now it stirred again.
Khalid's gloved hand touched the name, tracing it with quiet thought.
"…What are you planning, my prince?" he whispered, but his voice was unreadable neither cruel nor fond.
Just cautious.
Just uncertain.