(Almera POV)
The morning we left Atenisia, the city felt different beneath my feet.
Perhaps it was the quiet tension hanging over the palace corridors. Or perhaps it was simply the knowledge that the road ahead did not lead toward something new—but toward a past that had never truly released me.
Servants moved with careful efficiency throughout the palace. Silk curtains were tied back to welcome the pale gold of dawn, and the inner courtyards echoed with the steady rhythm of soldiers assembling.
The Golden Army escort had already begun forming ranks beyond the palace gates.
I stood near the balcony overlooking the eastern gardens, watching as banners bearing the sun emblem were raised above the courtyard. Their cloth caught the morning wind, shimmering like living flame.
Alessandria's symbol.
Romulus' symbol.
My fingers tightened slightly around the railing.
Constantine's banners were different.
Cooler.
Silver.
Precise.
A memory stirred in my chest, unwelcome and sharp.
