Morning unfurled gently across the stronghold.
Dew clung to blades of grass, turning the earth into a field of tiny mirrors. The first birdsong in days echoed through the trees, delicate and hopeful. The smell of baking bread wafted from the lower kitchens, mingling with the scent of pine and damp stone. Somewhere, a child's laughter rang out, quick, bright, and full of life.
Children chased fireflies that still blinked lazily in the shade, and warriors sparred in the courtyards, their movements purposeful, but lighter, less burdened.
Inside the quiet of her room, Aria stirred. She blinked slowly awake to find Lyra curled beside her on the wide bed, arm thrown haphazardly over a pillow. For once, Lyra's sleep seemed peaceful.
