The air in the deep archives of the pack library is thick with the scent of decaying paper and forgotten time.
Dust motes dance in the faint, flickering light of the enchanted orbs suspended above, casting long, dancing shadows across the towering shelves crammed with the history of Lunaris.
It’s been a month since Silas’s grim pronouncement, a month of bitter herbs, enforced sobriety, and the slow, grudging return of my strength.
I’m still gaunt, the weight having melted away, leaving my clothes hanging loosely on my frame.
"I don’t look better, if that helps you feel good," Cyan mutters darkly, more like a ghost haunting its own damn life, but the constant, leaden fatigue has begun to lift, replaced by a simmering, focused rage.
In the past month of my recovery, I've been spendi
