Soren did not soften his words.
He stood straighter before their mother, his expression grim, his voice edged with restrained fury that barely hid the anger simmering beneath.
"I went out among the people," he said. "I didn't send envoys. I didn't rely on reports, because I wanted to see for myself, so I walked the streets myself. I listened. And Mother… it was not good. Not in the slightest."
Aelira's fingers curled tightly around the arm of her chair, her knuckles paling.
"They've shaken the people so badly," Soren continued, pacing now, unable to remain still, "that fear has become instinct. If a bird soils a man's shoulder, he swears the gods are marking him for death. If thunder rolls, they drop to their knees, praying for forgiveness. Everything—everything—has become a sign of divine punishment."
Valerian remained silent, his presence heavy, the storm outside echoing the storm restrained within him.
