The City That Saw But Never Spoke
Celestis Veil was not loud.
Not like other kingdoms.
Even at midday, it moved with grace—measured footsteps, clean pulse routes, gardens that whispered between homes.
The streets shimmered with resonance-lamps, each tuned to a different frequency, keeping light balanced. Vendors spoke in soft tones. Pulse-tech shimmered beneath fabric stalls. No shouting. No chaos.
But something shifted as they entered.
Not sound.
Tension.
People turned.
Eyes lifted from markets and crystal tablets.
Murmurs bloomed like mist.
"Is that…?"
"I thought he was—"
"That's not possible."
"He's wearing a cloak."
"Look at his arm."
Zephryn didn't meet their stares.
His gait didn't change.
But every step he took made the world around him remember something it tried to forget.
Kaelen watched them. The way people whispered like the city itself had caught its breath.
Even children paused mid-play, instinct pulling them still.
They passed the Heartbloom Tree—massive, silver-barked, blooming violet at the center of the kingdom. Its roots pulsed beneath the ground, Veil-synced with every glyph in the district.
Zephryn paused.
Just for a second.
He looked at the trunk. At the place where names were once carved by hand before the Council banned it.
He reached out.
Didn't touch it.
Just hovered his hand near the bark.
The Heartbloom pulsed once.
Low.
Like a note heard in a dream.
Yolti felt it. So did Kaelen. So did everyone standing nearby.
One of the guards leaned in to another. "That tree hasn't reacted in years."
Zephryn lowered his hand.
The pulse faded.
He kept walking.
The guards said nothing now. Even the loud ones.
Because something in their step had changed.
They weren't leading him anymore.
They were escorting him.