Chapter 43
Elara’s POV
The fortress air was thick with smoke and iron. Even here, far from the clash of steel at the front, the war breathed against my skin like a fever. The wounded filled every hallway—soldiers with missing limbs, farmers-turned-swordsmen burned by fire, children clutching bandaged arms after being caught in raids. I had come to tend them, to sit among the broken and lend what strength I could, but in truth, I was seeking something more.
Hope, perhaps. Or clarity.
I had begun carrying a soldier’s satchel, less for appearances and more because I had filled it with letters, scraps, and fragments of the enemy’s movements. Reports trickled in from the scouts—burned villages, sabotaged supply trains, ambushes along trade routes. All orchestrated with precision. Too precis
