The morning bell screamed through the castle before the sun even dared to rise, a harsh, clanging reminder that sleep was a privilege, not a right.
Elara was already awake. She hadn't slept. Not really. When exhaustion finally dragged her down into the black void, it brought no dreams. No silver eyes. No moonlit fields. For the first time in five years, the darkness was just empty, silent, and cold.
The absence felt wrong. Like missing a limb she didn't know she had lost.
She sat on the edge of her narrow, straw-filled mattress, shivering in the damp air. Around her, the other slaves were already stirring, groaning, cursing as they prepared for another day of hell.
Her mind drifted back to the previous evening. To the Commander's chamber. To those f*****g eyes.
Silver.
Not gray. Not
