[POV: Amelia Von Quinsley]
They hadn't told her anything.
Not at first.
She only found out because of a maid.
The wrong maid.
The one with shaking hands who spoke too quickly and always smelled of wine-soaked fear.
"Gone, your brother—he came back but—no, no, not gone, not really, but it's not right, they say he didn't speak, not once—not even to the King—"
Amelia dropped her toy sword and ran barefoot through the servants' wing.
---
The guards at the Eastern Tower didn't stop her.
One tried to speak, but she was already past him, all gold-hair and fury, moving like the last storm before the world cracks open.
She found the heavy door.
And pounded on it.
"Zeke!" she yelled.
No answer.
"Zeke, I know you're in there!"
Her fists struck again and again. Not in rage—in rhythm. A heartbeat she refused to let him forget.
"I'm staying here," she announced to no one. "You better come out soon… or I'll break it down myself. Even if it takes forever."
She sat, arms around her knees.
Waited.
---
[POV: Lady Saelin – Moments Later]
The guards at the base of the tower heard the sound of soft slippers before they saw her.
They straightened instinctively.
Lady Saelin, concubine of no noble house, held herself with no crown, no titles—and yet, no one looked her in the eyes.
She ascended the stairs alone.
When she reached the landing, she found her daughter waiting.
Amelia's head rested against the cold wall. Her arms were locked tight around her legs, her eyes bleary from exhaustion and refusal.
"Mama?" the girl blinked.
Saelin knelt, brushing strands of hair from her daughter's forehead.
"You are fearless and foolish," she whispered. "Just like your brother."
"Are you going in?"
"Yes."
"Will he be okay?"
That made Saelin pause.
The stillness between them grew wide.
Then she said, very gently:
"No."
Amelia didn't flinch.
"But I will still go to him."
She kissed her daughter's brow, stood, and faced the guards.
"Open it."
---
[POV: Ezekiel]
He didn't turn when the door opened.
He already knew who it was.
Her presence didn't announce itself.
It didn't need to.
It always moved like a truth the world had learned to ignore.
Saelin stepped inside. The door shut behind her. The guards stayed outside.
She said nothing.
Not at first.
She sat beside him, knees brushing cold stone.
He sat still, staring into the fractured mirror, where lines like spiderwebs split his face a dozen ways.
She reached for his hand.
He let her.
---
"You're different now," she said at last.
Not a question.
Not an accusation.
Just an observation.
"You were always different. The court didn't like it. Your father hated it. Even I…" she paused, "even I feared it."
Her fingers traced his wrist. Pale skin, veined with faint letters that shimmered and faded like dew in starlight.
"But you are still mine."
Ezekiel didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
She leaned in.
"I won't ask what happened. That cave has swallowed better men than kings."
He closed his eyes.
"But I will ask what you need."
His mouth opened slightly—
But the Concept stirred.
His ribs tightened. The silence pressed outward. Words refused to be born.
He exhaled.
And said nothing.
She nodded.
"Then show me. When you're ready."
---
She rose. Stepped toward the door. But paused once more.
"And Ezekiel…"
He turned his head.
She didn't smile.
But her voice carried its ghost.
"Don't let them decide who you are."
"Even gods need reminding sometimes."
---
[POV: Servant Boy – Kael, 13, Unlucky]
Kael had never been this far up in the tower before.
He hadn't meant to come—really.
He'd followed the wine steward halfway by accident, then lost his nerve and ended up hiding near the hall.
Just in time to see Lady Saelin walk out.
Just in time to see that girl—the little one with the bright eyes—look up and smile like her whole world had been saved.
And just in time to see him.
The Hollow Prince.
No. Not hollow.
Not anymore.
Kael stared.
And something in him, small and stupid, felt the need to say something.
To push back the cold crawling up his spine.
He scoffed.
"Look at him. Not even a ghost. Just a freak the cave forgot to eat."
It wasn't brave.
It wasn't clever.
It was the kind of thing children say when they've heard too many stories and don't know how close they are to becoming one.
---
The air changed.
All wind died.
All birds vanished.
The hall around him contracted—no, it listened.
Kael tried to laugh.
Then cough.
Then breathe.
He opened his mouth.
No sound.
Not even a gasp.
He fell to his knees.
Scratching at his throat.
Clawing for air that wasn't there.
His own heartbeat became deafening.
Inside the tower, Ezekiel did not move.
He did not blink.
He did not know the boy.
But Silence had heard.
And it does not suffer mockery.