Elara
The air of Lycandoria grew heavy in the days before Isabella’s trial. It was more than tension it was a weight pressing on every chest, a storm crouched above us, waiting to break. Whispers slipped through the corridors like smoke, curling into every ear, leaving unease behind.
I could hear it when I walked through the training yards. The clash of swords rang louder, sharper, but the laughter that usually followed was gone. The smell of sweat and iron filled the air, yet beneath it was something sour fear. Warriors’ eyes darted too often toward the walls, as though expecting shadows to rise against them.
At night, when Xavier and I walked the gardens, the quiet was restless. Crickets sang, owls called, but even those sounds seemed thinner, stretched, like the world itself was hol
