The chapel had not changed.
The candles still burned low, their flames trembling in the quiet like whispers too afraid to be heard.
The stained glass windows stood tall and silent, casting fractured colors across the cold stone floor.
Yet something in the air had shifted.
It was heavier now.
Charged.
King Ivan stood near the altar, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on nothing and everything at once.
The weight of the prophecy pressed against his chest, unrelenting.
Behind him, the archbishop remained still.
"You are certain," Ivan said at last, his voice low, controlled.
"There is no doubt."
"There has never been doubt," the Archbishop replied quietly.
Ivan turned sharply.
"Then why was I not told everything about the source?"
The archbishop did not flinch.
"Because not everything was meant to be known at once."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one I can give."
Silence cracked between them.
