The silence after the battle was almost unbearable. The air in the ruins shimmered faintly with residual magic, the remnants of the energy Eryndor had unleashed moments before. His hands still trembled, faint traces of golden light flickering at his fingertips.
Lyra’s voice broke the stillness.
“Eryndor… what was that back there? You called out a name—Eira. But when I looked, there was no one.”
Eryndor hesitated, his gaze fixed on the scorched earth before him. For a heartbeat, he almost answered. Then, her voice spoke softly within him—calm, maternal, and weighted with regret.
“They cannot see me, Eryndor. To them, I am gone. You must choose your words carefully.”
He inhaled sharply. “It’s… complicated,” he said finally. “Eira isn’t here the way you think. She’s—”
He touched his tem
