His fist clenches at his side. His jaw works like he’s fighting something.
Kaia reaches out and touches his arm. Just that. Just a touch. But I see his shoulders drop. See some of the tension bleed out of him.
“You don’t have to figure it out right now,” she says. “We’re here. Whatever this means, you’re not carrying it alone.”
Kieran doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t pull away either.
They stand there for a long moment, gold light washing over them, while the rest of us watch from the cavern. Aspen and Torric exchange a look — they understand this. The weight of discovering something about yourself you never knew. The way it cracks you open.
Eventually, Kieran nods. Once. Small.
Kaia squeezes his arm and steps back, giving him space to breathe.
“Okay,” I say, because someone has to move us forward. “So that’s… dragons. Cool. Terrifying. Very on-brand for Kieran.”
Torric snorts. Aspen almost smiles.
Malrik is already moving.
He walks toward one of the remaining dark tunnels — not drifting like Kieran, not pulled. Walking with purpose. Like he knows what he’ll find and he’s dreading it.
“Malrik?” I call.
He doesn’t stop.
I follow. I don’t know why. Maybe because everyone else is still processing Kieran’s moment. Maybe because Malrik shouldn’t have to face whatever this is alone. Maybe because I’m nosy.
Probably that last one.
The tunnel blazes to life the moment Malrik approaches. Deep blue light pulses through the passage. Royal sigils. Swords held upright. A coronation scene carved in excruciating detail — a crown being placed on a bowed head, subjects kneeling, a kingdom being born.
And standing beside the throne, hand resting on the shoulder of the newly crowned king — a Valkyrie. Wings folded. Eyes watchful. Blessing the line.
Malrik stops at the entrance. His expression goes carefully blank.
“The royal line,” he says quietly. His voice is flat. Controlled. The voice he uses when he’s feeling too much and refuses to show it.
I step up beside him. “Heavy.”
“You have no idea.”
He traces one of the sigils with his finger. The carving glows brighter, humming softly.
“These are the founding sigils,” he says. “The ones in the palace are copies. Poor ones. This…” He shakes his head. “This predates everything. The monarchy. Absentia as we know it. All of it.”
His eyes linger on the Valkyrie beside the throne.
“The royal line didn’t just rule,” he murmurs. “They ruled becauseshechose them. The Valkyrie legitimized the crown.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I just stand there. Present. The way Kaia was there for Kieran.
Malrik glances at me. Something flickers in his expression — surprise, maybe. Gratitude.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“For what?”
“For not making a joke.”
