Evening descended upon the capital of Lechia.
The sun had long begun its slow descent beyond the horizon, painting the skies in shades of orange and crimson. The palace, usually bustling with activity, felt strangely subdued. Servants spoke quietly. Guards maintained a respectful silence. Even the nobles seemed less eager to engage in their usual political maneuvering.
The entire palace felt the weight of what had happened.
And at the center of it all was the Empress.
After spending much of the day alone, she remained inside her private chambers. The room was dimly lit by several enchanted lamps, their soft glow casting gentle shadows across the walls. A half-finished cup of tea rested on a nearby table, untouched for hours.
Her gaze remained fixed on the city outside her window.
Thousands of lights illuminated the capital.
The people still trusted her.
The people still believed in her.
Yet for the first time in many years, she felt tired.
Not physically.
Soul-deep tired.
