The queen was in the throne room, though she wasn't sitting on the throne. She stood before it, looking at the empty seat as if it were a puzzle she couldn't solve.
"You healed Julian," she said without turning as Evan entered.
"I did."
"And now you want to return to the Weaver."
"I need to. I'm not ready for... whatever's down there."
The queen turned. She looked tired. Older. "The tremors are getting worse. Last night, a section of the lower levels collapsed. The guards heard... laughter. From the darkness."
"Laughter?"
"Or something like it." She approached him. "Evan, I can't give you more time. The seals are failing. The Heart is waking. And when it does..."
"What happens?"
"What always happens when ancient, hungry things wake up. They eat." She gestured to the palace around them. "This. The city. The kingdom. Everything."
Evan was silent. The Weaver's thread hummed in his pocket, a reminder of silence, of learning, of time he didn't have.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked finally.
"Reinforce the seals. Use your improvement magic. Make them stronger. Better. Make them last long enough for us to find another solution."
"And if I can't? Or if I make them worse?"
"Then we evacuate. And hope the Heart is satisfied with stone and memory." She met his eyes. "But you CAN do it. I've seen what you can do. You don't break things. You make them BETTER."
"That's the problem," Evan said quietly. "What if the Heart... wants to be better? What if it wants to be more itself? More hungry? More powerful?"
The queen had no answer.
Another tremor, stronger than any before. The throne itself shifted on its dais. The crystal chandeliers swayed, tinkling like nervous laughter.
"Tonight," the queen said. "We go down tonight. You reinforce the seals. Or we evacuate at dawn."
"And if I fail?"
"Then at least we tried." Her expression softened slightly. "You're not a weapon, Evan. I know that. You're a... conversation. Have a conversation with the seals. Persuade them to be stronger. To last longer."
She left him standing in the trembling throne room.
Evan went to his rooms. They were as he'd left them, but... more. The improvements had continued in his absence. The furniture was more ornate. The books more legible. The very air seemed clearer, easier to breathe.
His magic, leaking, improving, even when he wasn't there.
He sat on his bed. The Weaver's thread glowed in his hand.
Go back, it seemed to say. Finish learning. Then face this.
Stay, said another voice—his own. Help. Try. Even if you fail.
He thought of Julian, alive and well. Of Emma, waiting. Of the palace, full of people who didn't know what slept beneath their feet.
He thought of the Weaver's words: Improvement is conversation. Not command.
Could he have a conversation with ancient seals? With a sleeping Heart?
Could he persuade darkness to stay asleep? Hunger to stay quiet?
He didn't know.
But he would try.
Tonight.
And if he failed...
Well. At least he'd improved some things along the way.
The palace trembled again. A deep, visceral shaking that felt less like earthquake and more like... stirring.
Something was waking up.
And it was dreaming of him.
***