Kael stood silently for a moment before the Queen, still kneeling, pale and wounded. His golden eyes, though dimmed by pain, retained a stubborn gleam of authority—or perhaps wounded pride.
The dust of destruction still hung in the air, thick and heavy as smoke from an ancient sacrifice. Shards of the ancestral seal crackled around them like dying embers. Exelia and Liora watched in silence, their weapons lowered but their eyes tense and ready.
Kael crouched slowly, his movements careful, as if he did not want to frighten her. He reached out one hand and touched her face lightly. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, coming from someone who had just struck down an entire caste of war mages with pure disdain.
His eyes scanned the Queen's body—the veins throbbing in her temples, the subtle tremor in her fingers, the imperceptible stiffness in her legs. He didn't need to ask. But he did anyway.
"You can't walk, can you?"
