Serena's fingers were warm around mine—steady, grounding.
The heat of her touch cut through the phantom sensations that still lingered whenever I used the System too long.
The split between who i was before, issuing commands and witnessing battles through my screen, and now imagining the screams and cries of battle, the sight and smell of the fields of death produced from those actions.
I exhaled slowly, letting the map dissolve completely.
"I wasn't planning on leaving," I said quietly.
Serena smiled, not unkindly. "You weren't planning on it," she agreed. "You were wanting it."
I didn't deny it.
~
For the next several days, that became the rhythm of my life.
I ruled from the desk.
Not with decrees or speeches, but with intent, vision, and the quiet omnipresence of the System.
Each morning, I opened the strategic interface.
Each evening, I closed it only after the last urgent marker dimmed.
