The drafty corridor outside Sylaris's bedchambers felt colder than ever, the northern wind whistling through the narrow arrow-slits of the fortress. Zaliyah had been standing on the floor for more than two hours now, the chill seeping through the soles of his boots and settling deep within his bones.
His knuckles were faintly red, raw from the repetitive, gentle tapping he had been practicing against the door. He wasn't used to this. He was a creature of a silent court raised in an environment governed strictly by protocols and noble etiquette. The nuanced emotional landscape of a sulking five-year-old child was a maze he didn't know how to navigate.
Whenever he tried to search his mind for guidance, attempting to recall how normal parents handled an angry, stubborn child, his memory came up completely empty. The past was a blur of shadows. He had entirely forgotten any memories of Riosuka consoling an angry, sulking Riru during their youth; those moments were lost to time.
