The rains came early to the southern highlands. Gentle at first, then persistent, as if the skies themselves wept to cleanse the scorched earth. Highridge Fortress was alive with new growth. Green crept through broken stones, and children’s laughter echoed in the same corridors where once war drums had beaten.
Kaelin stood on a balcony overlooking the valley, cloaked in a shawl of pale gray. Her once-battle-hardened armor now rested in the vaults, replaced by a simpler garment—no less regal, but far more maternal. In her arms, Seren squirmed restlessly, her tiny fists catching strands of her mother's dark braid.
Theron approached from behind, his boots silent on the stone floor. "She grows stronger each day."
Kaelin smiled faintly. "Like her father."
"Like her mother," he corrected. "A
