"You've been summoned here today for two reasons—the Veil... and Kairos' ascent to the throne."
The words clanged through the air like a cracked bell.
Kairos flinched. A twitch so small, yet so loud within him.
He had always feared this moment. The subject clawed at his insides like a feral thing in a cage. Lysander was the firstborn—older, stronger, revered. By law, by tradition, by lineage, the crown should have been hers.
And yet, for reasons no soul dared to utter aloud, their father had chosen him. The third-born. The quiet one. The boy who never asked for a kingdom.
No one questioned the king. Not when he ruled without lifting a single hue of color. Not when he commanded more fear than the beasts beyond the regions. Kairos had never seen his father bleed light—yet even the monsters whispered in his shadow.