Ronan did not bring her to the training grounds that morning.
He took her somewhere older.
The path curved away from the campfires and deeper into the forest, where the trees grew taller and the ground dipped into a quiet hollow surrounded by stone markers worn smooth by time.
Lina slowed when she saw them.
Some had collapsed.
Others leaned at strange angles.
But the carvings were still there.
Crescents.
Lines.
Symbols she had begun to recognize in the past days.
“This place…” she murmured.
Ronan stopped beside her.
“This was where your people gathered.”
Not the rogues.
Not the survivors.
Your people.
The words felt too large for her to carry.
Mara stepped forward quietly from behind them.
“Your mother used to stand there,” she said gently, pointing to a wide stone platfo
