The king did not sleep.
The candles in his chamber had burned low, their flames bending and rising like they too feared the dark. Outside, the night stretched long and silent, but within the palace walls, something restless moved—unseen, unnamed.
The king stood by the window, his hands clasped behind him.
Below, the courtyards lay still.
But when he closed his eyes, they were not still.
He saw them again—
Flames climbing the palace walls.
Shadows running through smoke.
A cry that would not end.
His breath caught.
"My king."
The voice came softly from behind.
The king did not turn at once. He steadied himself, then spoke.
"You heard?"
"I hear everything that troubles you," the voice replied.
The king turned.
His chief advisor stood near the doorway, his posture relaxed, his expression calm. The torchlight caught the edge of his face, leaving the other half in shadow.
"You should rest," the advisor said. "Morning will demand much from you."
"I have seen Kylles fall," the king said.
The advisor tilted his head slightly. "A dream."
"A warning."
A faint smile touched the advisor's lips—not mockery, not quite reassurance.
"Dreams speak in riddles," he said. "They show us fear as if it were truth."
The king's gaze hardened. "My dreams do not lie."
The advisor stepped closer.
"No," he said gently. "But they can be… guided."
The word lingered.
The king frowned. "Guided?"
The advisor's smile faded, replaced by careful seriousness.
"By those who understand them," he said. "By those trained to see what others cannot."
The king turned away again, his thoughts shifting.
"The priest," he murmured.
The advisor inclined his head. "He will know what your vision means."
A pause.
"And what must be done."
The king's fingers tightened behind his back.
"Yes," he said quietly. "What must be done…"
—
By morning, the palace was already awake.
Messengers moved quickly through the halls. Guards stood sharper than usual. Even the air felt tighter, as though it were waiting.
McTera walked through it without slowing.
Eyes followed her.
Some curious. Some cold.
She ignored them.
At the entrance to the inner court, two guards crossed their spears.
"The king is not receiving—"
"He will receive me," McTera said.
The guards hesitated.
Something in her voice made them glance at one another.
Then, slowly, they stepped aside.
—
The king stood at a long table when she entered, maps spread before him, marked with lines and symbols drawn in haste.
He did not look up immediately.
"You should be in the council chamber," he said.
"I have already been there," McTera replied.
Now he looked at her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the king gestured slightly. "Say what you came to say."
McTera stepped closer to the table. Her eyes moved over the maps—borders, rivers, paths of movement.
"You are preparing for war," she said.
"I am preparing for what may come."
"It is already coming."
The king's gaze sharpened. "You speak with certainty."
"I have seen it."
The words settled between them.
The king studied her face.
"Another dream?" he asked.
"Yes."
A pause.
"And more than that."
The king straightened slightly. "Explain."
McTera drew a breath.
"The danger is not only the Elepeo," she said. "It is here—in this palace."
The king's expression hardened at once.
"Choose your next words carefully."
"I have," she replied.
Her voice did not shake.
"The priest who is coming—he must not enter this palace."
Silence.
Not the quiet of peace—but the kind that waits before something breaks.
The king's eyes narrowed. "You accuse the priest?"
"I warn you about him."
"And on what proof?"
McTera held his gaze.
"What I have seen."
The king's jaw tightened.
"Dreams again."
"Yes."
A sharp breath left him. "You ask me to defy tradition, to turn away a priest, on the strength of your vision?"
"I ask you to protect your kingdom."
"And you think I would not?" he snapped.
McTera did not step back.
"I think you are being led toward the wrong path."
The words had barely left her mouth when—
"My king."
The advisor's voice slipped into the room like a shadow.
He entered without haste, his eyes moving first to the king, then—briefly—to McTera.
There was something in that glance.
Something measuring.
"You should not be disturbed," he said calmly.
"I called for no one," the king replied.
"Then forgive me," the advisor said, bowing slightly. "But matters of this weight rarely remain contained."
His attention returned to McTera.
"You bring warnings," he said.
"I bring truth."
The advisor's expression softened, almost sympathetic.
"Truth," he repeated. "A powerful word."
He stepped closer to the table, placing his hands lightly upon its edge.
"And yet," he continued, "truth requires more than certainty. It requires… foundation."
McTera said nothing.
"The priest has served Kylles longer than either of us has lived," the advisor went on. "His visions have guided kings. His wisdom has preserved this kingdom through times far darker than this."
He turned slightly toward the king.
"To reject him now would not only be unwise," he said, "it would be dangerous."
The king listened.
McTera saw it—the shift, small but real.
"The danger is in trusting him," she said.
The advisor looked at her again.
This time, there was no softness in his eyes.
"Be careful," he said quietly. "You stand very close to accusing your own people."
"I stand close to the truth."
"And how many times," he asked, "has truth come from one so… untested?"
The word lingered.
Untested.
Young.
Alone.
The king exhaled slowly.
"This is not the time for division," he said.
"It is exactly the time," McTera replied.
But the moment had already begun to slip.
The advisor spoke again, his voice calm, steady.
"My king, fear can shape what we see. It can make enemies where there are none… and hide the ones that truly matter."
A pause.
"The priest will come," he said. "Let him speak. Then we decide."
The king nodded—once.
"Yes," he said. "We will wait."
McTera felt it then.
The door closing.
Not in the room—but in his mind.
Her hands slowly relaxed at her sides.
"You are making a mistake," she said.
The king's expression hardened—not with anger, but with finality.
"We will follow our ways."
Silence.
McTera held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then she turned.
As she walked toward the door, the advisor's voice followed her.
"Faith in the kingdom," he said softly, "requires faith in its order."
She did not look back.
—
Outside, the air felt colder.
The palace walls rose around her, tall and unyielding.
Behind them, decisions were being made.
Paths were being chosen.
McTera stepped into the open courtyard.
Above, the sky stretched wide and clear.
No smoke.
No fire.
Not yet.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Then opened them again.
If the king would not act… then she would have to.
Because somewhere beyond those walls—
Or perhaps already within them—
the fall of Kylles was no longer a distant vision.
It was on its way.