The stronghold was too quiet.
Silence should have felt like compassion after the craziness of the night, but instead it had a brittle edge, like a sword ready to break.
Elaria walked through the hallways, her body still bruised from combat, her steps heavy with fatigue. Each echo of her boots on the stone evoked recollections of screams, and the stench of flames clung to her skin. However, she wasn't particularly uneasy about the ghosts of the deceased.
It was the living.
Eyes followed her wherever she went. While some dropped their heads in deference, others stayed too long, weighing her and asking questions. The whispers caused the air to change, and she followed Veylen. We nearly lost more lives because of her. She is the daughter of her father.
She could hear the words witho
