The palace did not heal overnight.

Dawn crept through broken ceilings and shattered arches, pale light spilling across ruins that still smelled of smoke and blood and raw, scorched magic. The halls bore deep scars—cracked pillars, collapsed balconies, walls etched with claw marks and rune burns that would never fully fade. The silence that followed was not peaceful.

It was wary.

As though the palace itself was listening, uncertain whether the violence had truly ended or merely ...