The throne room was silent—too silent.

  Zeven’s body lay still, his last breath snatched by magic that didn’t belong in this world. Blood pooled under him. Lirah sat beside him, knees drawn in. Thessia stood frozen, hand still clutching the hilt of her blade. Neyxa stared at nothing. And Rell…

  Rell knelt beside the boy’s body, eyes locked on the last sliver of warmth leaving his face.

  “You really gone…” he whispered, broken and low.

  Then—

  A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the chamber.

  Vaerid Mal’zen, the royal advisor, stood tall despite the fresh stab wound in his shoulder. Blood soaked his ivory robe, but his posture was pristine. Controlled. A twisted smile curved his lips.

  “You all grieve like children who’ve seen behind the curtain and still think screaming will change the play.”

  He stepped forward, voice smooth as silk-wrapped venom.

  “Zeven? A pawn. A disposable trickster. And that little puppet—” he motioned toward Lirah, “was built to suffer. Her pain is history’s cost.”

  Rell didn’t look at him.

  Vaerid sneered. “Don’t turn your back on me. You think you’ve won something here? I still have the King. This kingdom. The web stretches far beyond—”

  A voice cut him off.

  “No.”

  Everyone turned.

  The King was standing.

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  High on the throne dais, his eyes were clear. Cold. Conscious.

  “No more webs,” the King said quietly. “No more control.”

  Vaerid’s face paled.

  “…What?”

  Soft footsteps echoed.

  From the far side of the chamber, Ko Mala emerged from shadow, arms crossed, golden markings softly pulsing.

  “You talk too much,” the beast said.

  “You—” Vaerid’s voice cracked. “How?!”

  Ko Mala’s fur bristled. “Blessed magic breaks chains. I broke his. Before I came here.”

  Vaerid backed up, hand trembling. “You… You lied… All of you—!”

  He raised a hand—gathering raw arcane power, a pulsing orb of mind-magic aimed directly at the King.

  “No crown without me!”

  He launched it.

  It didn’t reach.

  Rell caught it mid-air.

  No spell. Just his bare hand.

  The energy fizzled out in his palm.

  Vaerid’s breath caught in his throat.

  Rell didn’t speak.

  He stepped forward.

  Once.

  Then again.

  Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

  His gaze locked on the Advisor, no longer grieving. No longer confused.

  Just focused.

  Vaerid scrambled back. “Stay—stay away—”

  He tried another spell. A faster one. A ripple of enchantment aimed straight at Rell’s thoughts.

  Rell blinked.

  Unfazed.

  From behind, Ko Mala murmured aloud, like narrating a law of nature:

  “His body… and soul don’t match. You can’t control what doesn’t align.”

  The Advisor froze in panic. His magic shattered.

  Rell didn’t rush. He didn’t have to.

  He just kept walking.

  Until they were chest to chest.

  Until Vaerid had nowhere left to go.

  “Done talkin’,” Rell said.

  Then came the punch.

  ?? The Jungle’s Judgement

  Rell shifted his weight—hips coiling like a whip drawn tight.

  Every part of his form aligned—legs, spine, fist, breath.

  He struck.

  A hook from the earth itself.

  Bone met bone.

  CRACK.

  Vaerid’s jaw snapped sideways with a sickening sound. His feet left the floor. Blood sprayed. Teeth flew like broken pearls. His body spiraled backward like a broken doll.

  BOOM.

  He slammed into a marble pillar so hard the base cracked. Dust rained down.

  He didn’t get back up.

  Didn’t twitch.

  Didn’t speak.

  Rell let out a breath.

  “Try hurt king… again. See what happen.”

  The King stepped forward, silent, looking down at his traitorous advisor.

  “Let his name be erased. His deeds wiped. His legacy buried.”

  He turned to the crew.

  “To you… I owe the future of this kingdom.”

  Neyxa helped Lirah to her feet. Thessia wiped her blade and sheathed it.

  Ko Mala moved beside Rell, hand on his shoulder.

  The jungle boy looked to the throne.

  “Start… with truth.”

  And finally—

  There was silence.

  Not fear.

  Not control.

  Just peace.