The days crawled past, each one heavier than the last. The darkness on the northern horizon continued to grow, a stain spreading across the grey sky, and with it, the tension in Frosthold intensified. Warriors drilled until they could barely stand. Smiths worked through the night, their forges glowing like beacons in the darkness. Every able hand was busy with preparation, with prayer, with the grim work of getting ready to face the storm.
I had not seen Elara in three days.
Our paths crossed occasionally—a glimpse of her in the corridors, a wave across the courtyard—but there was no time for the long conversations we had shared, the quiet moments of sisterhood that had become so precious to me. She was always moving, always surrounded by people, and always consumed by duties I did not fully understand.
On the fourth day, I sought her out.
