#so basically Bal had been speaking with Sivel when Creation went ding dong in his head

[arcxnumvitae]

The sound reached his ears before the sight did, an uneasy rumble. Mhoirbheinn could sense the feeling in the air without even needing to see the expressions of the small crowd ahead. After all, he had felt it enough during his time in the militia. Panic. The discord that came from a rudderless ship, one without a leader.

Rounding the corner, Mhoirbheinn's gaze landed on several of Bal's guards, huddled together and speaking in strained whispers. It was obvious they didn't wish to be overheard, yet a single phrase reached the man's ears.

"The king has vanished. Quick, round up--"

However, one of the guards caught sight of him beyond their compatriot's shoulder, and all froze instantly. And for good reason, Mhoirbheinn was on then in an instant, his glower deadly and a hand balling into the fabric of one's tunic to yank them closer.

"The king is what?"

---------------

Vanished into thin air. Solanine had reported, in the brief, panicked moment that Mhoirbheinn had spoken with her, that Balmoral had been speaking with a foreign dignitary, and then later had-- vanished. According to her, it had happened so quickly that there was no chance for some faction to have spirited him out of the castle, yet he was nowhere to be found within it. Mhoirbheinn himself had had little opportunity to see, let alone speak with Bal that day, and now he was simply-- gone. Gone. Gone gone gone gonegonegone--

The familiar scent of Bal surrounded him as he paced through his room. It was the first place he rushed to when he felt his grip crumbling, and yet it offered little comfort. How long had it been since Bal vanished? Fingertips brushed over his eye patch as if willing Bal to establish a connection between them to give some hint as to where he might have gone. Yet nothing revealed itself to him. What did that mean then, if Bal was somewhere unknown but wasn't showing anything to him? Was he meant to simply sit there and wait for word--

The thought seized his heart in a panic. No, he couldn't wait, he couldn't. Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to come home, waiting for someone who would never come home.

Mhoirbheinn's breaths came in quick pants, desperate to suck in whatever air he could to fill his surely collapsing lungs, yet it was never enough. His heart raced almost painfully in his chest, a shaking hand gripping over it as the wall met his back with a harsh thud.

Laughter, soft and cruel, echoed in his ears when the man fell to the ground below, trembling. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the body, still, silent, blankly staring at him. The hair was as black as night one moment and a familiar twilight blue the next. Ever shifting, and Mhoirbheinn was too afraid to look at it properly to determine which one it might be.

He didn't know how long he stayed in Bal's room, trembling and terrified of the phantom corpse watching him from the edge of his vision.