The distant sound of detonation thundered through the night, reaching the high walls of the sky castle.
Freya jerked upright, her chest tightening as she rushed toward the balcony doors of her chamber.
She could feel it.
The battle.
The intensity.
Even from up here, far from the city streets, she could sense the rage and violence surging below.
But the castle shields held.
Rion’s barriers shimmered, strong and unyielding.
As long as he was alive, the castle would not fall.
Yet, Freya’s anxiety refused to fade.
She needed to see.
Needed to know.
“Mila! Ellen!” she called breathlessly, her hands gripping the bedpost for support.
Her maids rushed inside, their eyes wide with concern.
“My Lady?” Mila asked, her voice laced with worry.
“Take me to a castle terrace,” Freya ordered
