Two days later.
Palace War Room | Late at night | Rain pelting the windows | A fire slowly burning out.
The war room was too quiet for comfort. The candlelight danced against the polished oak walls, casting long shadows that flickered like ghosts. Maps were scattered across the long table, marked in red ink, ancient runes etched on parchment, scrolls opened halfway through deciphering. The smell of burning wax mingled with the soft scent of wet earth—the storm had not stopped since we returned to the capital.
I was exhausted. My fingertips were smudged with charcoal from drawing ward circles, my back ached from hunching over scrolls, and my eyes stung from lack of sleep.
But I couldn’t rest.
Because I still felt it.
The Rift was alive.
And Alaric... he wasn’t dead. I couldn’t believ
