Valerian returned to the palace with the first threads of dawn.
The road had been long, and his body was far from its best state, but he insisted on returning alone—no escort, no procession. Just like he always did when the world around him began to feel too tight.
The guards at the main gate bowed in silence, opening the doors without question. He didn't need to speak; his footsteps said everything. The sentries had learned that silence was the highest form of respect for a man who carried an unending war in his eyes.
In the corridors, silence draped the walls. A few servants appeared briefly, then vanished quickly—like ghosts accustomed to hiding.
Valerian didn't head to his room. He didn't remove his cloak, nor wash the dust and blood from his clothes. Instead, he turned right… and descended the spiral staircase leading into the depths of the palace.
Down there. Where Alexis was.
