The Whisper in the Empty Court
Breathing came a little easier when the noise finally dropped away. Empty now, the high-walled chamber held only traces of what had rushed through it just before. Flickers from the stone-lined flames whispered against the floor, making shapes that shifted like they were listening. Shadows grew longer, pulsing slow, as if the air inside remembered everything.
Back he faced the throne. Beside it sat stacks of paper, corners bent from too much flipping - updates, commerce tallies, missives from far-off outposts, envelopes still closed. Every sheet hummed with a realm inching forward. Not loud. Not sudden. But sharp under the skin.
His hand moved forward, fingertips grazing the upper edge of the paper. Cool and sleek beneath his touch, it carried more weight than its thin frame suggested. Stilled by what lay before him, he paused, eyes tracing each marked line, every written number and name spread across the surface.
