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The name echoed in Evelyn’s mind long after Lina had drifted off to sleep. Virelith. She stood by the window of the healer’s wing, arms folded, her fingers drumming against her elbow. The moon hung low, casting a pale glow across the sleeping village. Down below, warriors moved in hushed formations, increasing their patrols under strict new orders. Damien approached from behind, his steps silent but his presence undeniable. “You haven’t slept,” he said softly. She didn’t turn around. “Neither have you.” A beat of silence stretched between them. “What do you think it is?” she asked. “That name… Virelith?” Damien exhaled through his nose. “I don’t know. But I’ve started to ask the witches for answers. Maera and her sisters are combing their tomes, even reaching out to the Oracle of Fr