The rain continued to fall in a rhythmic, relentless patter against the broad leaves of the Forbidden Forest, but the dense canopy acted as a natural shield, allowing only a fine mist to reach the clearing. In the center of this gloom, the campfire crackled with a defiant energy, casting long, wavering shadows that danced against the ancient trunks of the trees. The scent of damp earth and woodsmoke hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sharp, medicinal tang of the salve Isabella had applied to Freya’s wounds. Freya sat on the fallen log, her bastard sword leaning against her knee, her eyes fixed on the flickering orange tongues of the fire. She looked diminished in the dim light, the fire highlighting the exhaustion etched into the lines of her face, yet the underlying steel of her spiri
