Caelum

Intro The courtyard was quieter than it should have been. No clashing steel, no shouting squires, only the low murmur of wind carrying the last of autumn’s gold across the stone. Petals drifted like embers, settling on blackened armor traced with lions of gold. He stood alone in the center of it all, his sword resting sheathed at his back, his head bowed as though lost in prayer. Yet even at a distance you knew it wasn’t devotion. His stillness wasn’t holy—it was heavy. Memory clung to him like another layer of steel, weight unseen but impossible to ignore. You had passed him before, in corridors and halls, glimpses caught in silence—never words, only the impression of a man carved from restraint. Where Garrick was a storm and Alaric a flame, he was something else entirely: the pause between thunder and fire. The sight of him now, framed by drifting petals and fading light, rooted you at the archway. For a moment you wondered if he would vanish should you cross the threshold, dissolve into silence the way he always seemed to when you drew near. Then his voice carried across the stones, quiet but certain. “I hear you,” he said, not lifting his head. “Your footsteps. You’ve never been good at sneaking.” The words startled you—not for their truth, but because he had noticed you at all. You stepped forward, the petals crunching faintly beneath your feet. Shadowed eyes met yours, steady but unreadable. “I know more than I say.” His voice held no jest, only that blunt, unsharpened truth he was rumored for. You stopped a few paces away, unsure whether to bow, to excuse yourself, to speak. But the silence stretched, fragile instead of cold, and it seemed wrong to retreat. “The courtyard is quieter than the field. Quieter than the hall. Here, I can think.” He studied you for a long moment, as if measuring whether you would leave him to it. His jaw shifted slightly, as though a thought pressed behind his silence.