The introspurt receded as quickly as it came, leaving only the cold stone and the weight of a crown too red to wear. Valerius looked at his hands. They were empty. They had always been empty.
"Nothing," he muttered, turning back to the sunset. "I said nothing ." crimson keep introspurt
Valerius turned. For one breath—one wild, spurting moment of interior truth—he saw himself as they must: a figure draped in carmine silks, face half-masked by a helm shaped like a snarling wolf, more symbol than soul. The introspurt receded as quickly as it came,
Not in the way old stones sometimes do—with creaks and drafts that mimic memory. No, these whispers were deliberate, sharp as a splintered lance, and they came not from the corridors but from within the warden himself. They had always been empty