The room fell into a heavy silence, save for the rhythmic ticking of a clock that seemed to measure the dwindling seconds of their safety. Elara reached into the bottom of her chest, her movements slower now, as if she were wrestling with the gravity of her next action. She pulled out a small, unassuming object wrapped in velvet: a cylinder of polished, blackened wood, capped on both ends with a metal that didn't catch the light—a material that felt cold enough to burn.
"This belonged to your mother," Elara said, her voice barely a breath. "She gave it to me on the night of the first breach, when the sky began to bleed. She knew the Mentors would come for you, and she knew the village would be the first place they looked."
Kaelen took the object. As his fingers brushed the cold metal, a
