Sweat.
Dust.
Fear.
“You did this.”
“No.”
“The giants woke because of you.”
“Yes.”
“The Shadow woke because of you.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Aren stared.
“Because it was already waiting.”
Aldric’s face changed.
“You know nothing.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence.
The King looked toward Oren.
The historian had arrived behind Aren.
“You told him.”
“Not everything.”
Aldric laughed bitterly.
“Of course not.”
Aren stepped closer.
“What did my mother do beneath the palace?”
The King’s eyes hardened.
“She ruined everything.”
“Tell me.”
“She tried to destroy the Crown.”
Aren looked at Oren.
The historian did not know.
Aldric continued.
“Elara discovered the Stone Throne.”
“Gaelor told us.”
The King glanced toward the giant.
“You speak to them?”
“Yes.”
Fear again.
Aren saw it clearly now.
Aldric had built his life around power that had never truly belonged to him.
“She changed the Covenant,” Aren said.
Aldric’s face twisted.
“She broke it.”
“She stopped kings from controlling them.”
“She made Eldoria defenseless.”
Aren looked toward the golden giants shielding civilians.
“No.”
Aldric’s voice rose.
“You are a child.”
“Yes.”
“You know nothing of rule.”
“Probably.”
“You think asking is enough?”
“No.”
“You think choice builds armies?”
“Sometimes.”
Aldric laughed.
Then his expression collapsed into something older.
“I killed Theron.”
The city seemed to disappear.
Aren stared.
Oren closed his eyes.
The King continued.
“He found the Heart Vault first.”
“Why kill him?”
“Because he wanted to expose our father.”
“What?”
Aldric looked toward the palace.
Their father, King Merek, had been attempting to reactivate the Stone Throne for years.
Not to awaken the giants.
To control them.
He believed Eldoria could dominate every neighboring kingdom if the giants returned.
Theron discovered the experiments.
So did Elara.
Theron planned to reveal them.
Aldric was twenty-two.
Second son.
Hungry for importance.
His father told him Theron would destroy the kingdom.
“So you killed him.”
Aldric swallowed.
“Yes.”
The word did not satisfy anything inside Aren.
No relief.
No dramatic clarity.
Only emptiness.
“My mother?”
“I was ordered to kill her too.”