"… I was still living in the far northern region," she said quietly, "my father was a great knight. Not a famous one—but strong. Strict. He always came home wounded… yet smiling as if it were nothing."
Lucas did not interrupt.
"My mother," Silvara continued, "was a good woman. Too good, even. She tended our small field, took care of the house, and always believed my father would return safely, no matter what happened."
Her hand slowly clenched on her knee.
"The land there was fertile. The winters were harsh, but the soil was alive. People worked, laughed, endured. That was… home."
She paused.
Then her voice dropped a notch.
"Until one day, the Dark Dragon Myolvidaraz appeared."
Lucas felt a chill creep up his spine.
"There were no signs. No warnings," Silvara said flatly. "The sky darkened. The wind stopped. Then fire fell like rain."
She closed her eyes.
