As they left the frantic energy of the throne room behind, Zas turned to Sier, the frown still marring his spectral features. "I still don't understand," he confessed, "You spent years in exile, plotting… and then you simply waltz in here and demand your crown back. Why the change?"
Sier's steps faltered for the briefest of moments, a flicker of vulnerability betraying the calculated facade. "Yalen fell," he said, his voice low and laden with a bitterness honed during his absence. "And with its fall, my reasons for exile vanished."
"Revenge?" Zas pressed, there was no accusation in his tone, merely the seeking of answers only a long-term companion could demand.
Sier's smile was sharp, devoid of any warmth. He said nothing, but the answer hung in the air between them, thick as the tension that had gripped the palace.
