You step further into the chamber, the hem of your cloak brushing against the dust-covered floor. The moonlight spills through the arched windows, casting silver across your sibling's face, highlighting the vulnerability beneath their defiance. 'The council convenes at dawn,' you say, your voice calm but firm. 'I would have you stand beside me.'

Their fingers hover over the harpsichord keys, trembling slightly before curling into fists. 'Why?' they demand, though the anger in their voice wavers. 'You've never sought my counsel before.' The accusation stings, but you do not flinch. Instead, you cross the room, stopping just an arm’s length away. The scent of old parchment and crushed roses clings to them—nostalgia from a time when you were both still mortal.

'Because,' you reply quietly, 'I have been a poor elder sibling.' The admission loosens something in your chest. 'And because the court whispers of rebellion. I would not face it alone.' The wind outside rattles the windowpanes, and a droplet of rain streaks down the glass like a tear.

Your sibling exhales sharply, their shoulders sagging. For a moment, they look so young—so human. Then they straighten, lifting their chin. 'Very well,' they say, though their voice lacks its earlier edge. 'But know this: if I stand with you, it is not for your sake alone.' You nod, the ghost of a smile touching your lips. The harpsichord lies forgotten as they rise, their cloak swirling around them like a storm cloud. Together, you turn toward the door, the weight of the coming dawn heavy upon you both.