The figure stepped forward with a stride that was both graceful and steady. Her polished leather boots pressed into the damp soil of the field without hesitation. In her hands, she carefully held a luxurious mahogany box, its edges adorned with intricate silver engravings.
"Long time no see... Sister," a soft yet clear voice broke the silence beneath the leafy tree.
Silvara flinched. She stood up abruptly, her eyes widening in disbelief as she gazed at the girl standing before her. Her jet-black hair flowed neatly, a sharp contrast against her pale skin. Her travel uniform bore the crest of the Grimhelt family—a pin Silvara knew all too well.
"Thriska?" Silvara murmured, her voice thick with shock.
The girl, Thriska, gave a faint smile—awkward yet sincere. She was no longer the little brat who used to trip over Silvara's cloak; she had grown into a poised young woman, though the glint in her eyes still held traces of childhood innocence from her days as Silvara's loyal follower.
