It took Amon several days to dissolve the storm cloud hanging over Yue's heart.
Anemos' escape had wounded her pride far more deeply than she cared to admit. She had been so certain—so absolute in her grasp—that his slipping through her fingers felt less like a tactical failure and more like a personal betrayal of her own power.
For someone who bent spirits to her will and reshaped battlefields with a whisper, the notion of "almost" was unbearable.
She brooded in silence at first, her frustration curdling into self-reproach.
Amon, however, understood her better than she realised. He did not confront her with lectures or hollow reassurances. Instead, he coaxed her out and back into the living world.
They wandered through the quieter districts of Solfea at dusk, where lanternlight shimmered across half-repaired streets. He took her beyond the city walls to rolling hills where the wind carried no scent of ash or ruin.
