My voice comes out softer than I expect, like speaking any louder would pierce the fragile stillness of this moment. “What do you mean?”
Thane doesn’t answer right away. He shifts his weight, his fingers curling briefly against the stone before relaxing again.
“It wasn’t clean,” he finally says, his voice low. “Raiders kill for profit. For supplies. This . . . this was different.”
Goosebumps appear on my bare arms. “Different how?”
He exhales, glancing toward the horizon as if the words are easier to say to the night than to me. “The bodies were left out in the open. Torn apart. Almost like they wanted them to be found.”
My chest tightens. “Like a warning.”
Thane nods, slowly. “Or a message.”
The wind shifts—warm, but restless. The storm is coming. But there’s something else riding the air. Something I can’t name, but feel.
A charge. A whisper just beyond reach.
It settles over me like it clings to Thane’s shoulders—in the quiet tension of his stance. He’s too still, like he’s waiting for something unseen to move.
I swallow, my voice barely above a whisper. “Shadow Forces?”
Thane’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at me. His gaze stays fixed on the horizon, where the world fades into darkness.
“Maybe.” His voice is low, hard. “But if it was them, they’re getting bolder.”
Another chill snakes through me, despite the warmth of the night.
The Shadow Forces were always a distant threat. Something whispered in war councils and old stories. Yes, they attacked my village. But they were looking for me.
This . . . feels different.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Thane exhales sharply, his fingers flexing against the stone wall. “Because I’m not.”
He finally turns to look at me, and for the first time, I see it—the thing he isn’t saying. Worry.
“Shadow Forces destroy everything. But this—this felt deliberate. Precise.” He shakes his head. “Like someone wanted to make a statement.”
Before the silence stretches too far, I speak—quiet, but certain.
“I’m sorry you lost those warriors.”
Thane’s reaction is immediate, but not what I expect. He doesn’t speak. Just exhales, head bowed, like the weight of leading the realm has finally reached him. For all his strength—for all his control—I see it now: the exhaustion. The burden he carries alone.
My heart squeezes.
He doesn’t respond—just stands there, wind stirring thestrands of his dark hair. The moonlight sharpens his features, casting deep shadows along the sharp cut of his jaw, the high angles of his cheekbones. He looks like he’s carved from stone. But not unbreakable.
Thane lifts his hands, rubbing his face—slow, weary.
When he drops them back to the wall, he glances at me—just once—before turning back to the land beyond the walls.
His voice is quiet, rough at the edges. “So many men and women.” He exhales, shaking his head. “We’ve lost so many good people.”
Thane’s fingers tighten against the stone. His jaw clenches. “So many families left without husbands. Wives. Daughters. Sons. So many parentless children.”
His grip shifts—tight, then looser. His voice drops, but the raw edge remains. “What’s the point of all this power . . . when so many still die?”
