Les Invalides, Paris
June 3rd, 1836
The Pope's words faded into silence, but the weight of them did not leave the chamber.
No one moved immediately. The air itself felt held in place, as if even the space understood that the moment had not yet fully passed. The clergy remained still. The officials did not shift. Even the soldiers standing at the edges of the chamber held their positions without the slightest break in posture.
Napoleon II stood where he was, his eyes still on the coffin.
The final prayers had been spoken.
The rites had been completed.
And yet, something in him did not allow the moment to close so easily.
He took a slow breath, steadying himself, not out of weakness, but out of awareness. This was not a battlefield where action followed immediately after decision. This was something else. This was final.
