The sky was gray the morning they buried Ethan.
Not storm-gray. Not dramatic, world-ending gray. Just that quiet, heavy kind of gray that felt like the sky itself was tired of watching people hurt. The kind of gray that made everything look softer and crueler at the same time, like the world was trying to be gentle but didn't quite know how.
The courtyard had been cleared. Banners that once celebrated victory now hung low, black ribbons woven through royal colors. The wind moved them slowly, like it was afraid to make too much noise. Even the castle seemed different, halls quieter, guards speaking in hushed tones, footsteps softer, as if stone itself understood what had been lost.
They laid Ethan on a raised platform draped in white and silver cloth.
He looked peaceful.
That was the worst part.
