The night was still. The air carried the scent of rain that never came, the kind that teased the earth with a promise it couldn't keep. Liora slept in the high chamber alone, the torches dimmed, her breathing soft and restless against the silence.
And then she dreamed.
It began as warmth, the kind she hadn't felt in years. The moon was full, the forest alive with wolves howling in joy, not war. She was younger in the dream, hair braided, eyes bright and unscarred by blood. Her hands were steady, her heart racing for all the right reasons.
Across the field, Gonzalo stood waiting.
No armor, no fear, no power weighing down his shoulders, just him. The man who had fought beside her when the gods were silent, when her name still meant hope, not fear. His grin was the same, boyish, dangerous, too sure of her. But maybe that was when he was using her.
"Ready?" he asked, sword in hand, the edge catching moonlight.
She smiled despite herself. "You'll lose again."
