King Who Smiles While Bleeding
Far off, where the trees grew thick and quiet, Victor sat still, his breathing slow. Meanwhile, Lane spoke carefully with members of the Redcliffe line, words measured. The forest held him like a secret. Her voice carried across stone steps leading down into shade. One moment stretched while thoughts settled beneath mossy bark. Another ended near an old path worn by deer.
Fog crept forward, slow as a held thought, slipping through old trunks, pooling near roots before lifting in pale sheets close to where he remained unmoving. Silence filled the woods - an odd kind of hush. Not even animals called out. Not one wing stirred above. Air stumbled when nearing him, catching itself, pulled back by some unspoken knowing that presence meant pause.
Victor remained seated on a flat stone, legs crossed, spine straight, unmoving.
