Chapter 117 The Royal Debrief and the Hollow Boy
The palace hadn’t changed.
Which was impressive, considering half of Aeloria was now whispering in Void tongues and the western coast had turned into a reflective lake of trauma. But the palace? Still pristine. Still smug. Still full of tapestries that looked like they were judging you.
We were ushered into the throne room by a steward who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He didn’t speak. Just gestured dramatically and then vanished behind a curtain like a disappointed magician.
The King sat on his throne, legs crossed, fingers steepled, expression somewhere between “mildly inconvenienced” and “deeply offended by our existence.”
“Ah,” he said. “The Flameborn Initiative. Or what’s left of it.”
Thessa muttered, “I swear, if he starts with a poem, I’m setting the throne on fire.”
Kael whispered, “Do it. I’ll back you.”
Zeke leaned toward Yuel. “Ten gold says he passive-aggressively blames us for the Void.”
Yuel nodded. “Make it twenty if he uses the phrase ‘cosmic inconvenience.’”
The King cleared his throat and began reading from a scroll that was unnecessarily long and definitely scented.
“To the surviving members of the Flameborn Initiative,” he intoned, “whose recent activities have resulted in the partial unravelling of my kingdom, the spontaneous sentience of my throne, and the unfortunate transformation of my royal garden into a sentient poetry circle…”
Thessa groaned.
“…I extend my deepest, most reluctant gratitude. While your efforts have prevented total annihilation, they have also caused irreparable aesthetic damage to several of my favorite provinces.”
Kael muttered, “He’s mad about the curtains, isn’t he?”
“Furthermore,” the King continued, “I must inquire as to the current status of Milo of the Rift, whose emotional instability appears to be the root cause of this cosmic inconvenience.”
Zeke fist-pumped. “Twenty gold!”
Yuel sighed. “I hate being right.”
Milo stood beside me.
Still.
Silent.
Present, but not here.
He hadn’t spoken since we left the Void. His eyes were dull, his movements mechanical. He responded to questions with nods or shrugs. He didn’t react when the King insulted him. He didn’t flinch when Thessa threatened to set the throne on fire.
He was a ghost in his own skin.
Aine watched him closely.
She didn’t say anything.
But I saw it in her eyes.
She felt it too.
Something was wrong.
The King finished his speech with a dramatic flourish and a sigh that could curdle milk.
“I expect a full report,” he said. “Preferably one that doesn’t include metaphysical poetry or flaming squirrels.”
Lira raised a hand. “That was one time.”
The King ignored her. “You are dismissed. Except Milo. I would like a private word.”
I stepped forward. “He’s not—”
Aine touched my arm. “Let him go.”
I looked at her.
She nodded.
But her eyes were sharp.
Watching.
Waiting.
We left Milo with the King.
Thessa paced the hallway. “This is a bad idea.”
Kael leaned against a pillar. “He’s not going to hurt anyone. He’s barely blinking.”
Lira frowned. “That’s what worries me.”
Zeke sat cross-legged on the floor. “I miss when Milo was dramatic. At least then he had vibes.”
Yuel nodded. “Now he’s just… beige.”
Ellira sketched a rune on the wall. “He’s suppressing everything. That’s dangerous.”
Aine stood still.
Silent.
Focused.
“He’s not suppressing,” she said. “He’s unravelling.”
We all turned to her.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“He’s still in the Void.”
Milo returned twenty minutes later.
The King looked vaguely shaken, which was impressive considering he once hosted a banquet during a magical hurricane.
Milo’s expression hadn’t changed.
Still blank.
Still quiet.
Still… wrong.
Thessa stepped forward. “What did he say?”
Milo shrugged. “He asked if I could make the throne stop reciting breakup poetry.”
Zeke blinked. “Can you?”
“No,” Milo said.
Kael frowned. “Did you threaten him?”
“No.”
Lira narrowed her eyes. “Did you want to?”
Milo paused.
Then nodded.
Aine stepped beside him.
She didn’t speak.
Just placed a hand on his shoulder.
He didn’t react.
We regrouped in the Flameborn quarters.
The damage reports were coming in.
The Void had left scars across Aeloria—villages erased, forests twisted, oceans turned to glass. The ley lines were unstable. Magic was unpredictable. The Queens was still missing.
The King continued to write poetry to the moon and the lands in hopes that it would heal them.
Thessa read one aloud. “Dear Moon, I hope you’re enjoying your uninterrupted orbit while my kingdom collapses. Must be nice to be emotionally distant and gravitationally stable.”
Kael snorted. “He is losing it.”
Lira sighed. “We all are.”
Zeke poked a Void scar on the wall. “This one looks like my ex.”
Yuel groaned. “You need new material.”
Ellira sketched a map of the damage. “We need to rebuild. Fast.”
Aine sat beside Milo.
She didn’t speak.
Just watched.
And I?
I sat across from him.
Trying to find the boy I loved in the silence.
Later, Aine pulled me aside.
“He’s fading,” she said.
“I know.”
“He’s not healing.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“You need to reach him.”
I nodded.
But I didn’t know how.
That night, Milo stood alone in the courtyard.
The stars above were flickering.
The Void was still in him.
Quiet.
Waiting.
I stepped beside him.
He didn’t look at me.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
I reached for his hand.
He didn’t pull away.
But he didn’t hold on.
“I’m still here,” I whispered.
He nodded.
But didn’t speak.
And I knew—
The battle wasn’t over.
Not yet.
It was just beginning, and what was coming seemed more dangerous than what we had faced before.