Uzziel left Fara’s room.
He closed the door carefully, as if even the slightest sound could shatter the fragile rest that Lissana had imposed with her magic. He stood there for a moment, his hand still resting on the wood, listening. Fara’s breathing was muffled, regular, artificially serene. It wasn’t a natural sleep, but at least it was silent.
That would have to suffice.
The hallway was empty, barely illuminated by opaque crystals embedded in the stone, whose glow was weak, tired, as if the light itself was exhausted. Nothing in that place seemed fully alive. The walls retained the shape of what they had been, but not their pulse.
And that infuriated him.
Not with explosive anger, but with an ancient, dense fury that tightened his chest. That land had been his home. Not just a king
