[Silthara Palace — Malika's Private Courtyard — Continuation]
Silence did not break. It sank. Deeper… heavier… settling into the very bones of the courtyard.
The name still lingered.
Zyraeth Naharash.
Levin's gaze did not leave Nayra, but something within it had shifted—not confusion, not surprise, but recognition. A fragment of the past—long buried beneath judgment and decree—had just risen… and now stood before him.
"…So," Levin spoke at last, his voice quiet, measured, yet carrying weight enough to still breath itself, "…you believe your mother stood against the throne…because of your sister?"
Nayra nodded. Innocent and certain.
"Yes," she said softly and then without hesitation. "…Because the Malik killed my sister."
The air broke. A sharp inhale echoed through the courtyard; attendants stiffened. Iru's gaze snapped forward. Arinaya's fingers curled slightly.
And then—"What."
The voice did not rise. It dropped, cold, heavy, and unforgiving.
"What did you say?"
