The dawn light was grey and cold, filtering through my window in pale, watery stripes. I sat on the edge of my bed, still dressed in the clothes I had worn the night before, watching the darkness on the northern horizon deepen with each passing moment. Sleep had been impossible—my mind churned with memories of Runa's words, of the weight we both carried, of the battle that would come with the rising sun.
A knock at my door.
I knew it was him before I opened it. The weight of his presence, the cold that always seemed to follow him—I felt it through the stone, through the wood, through the very air between us.
Kaelen stood in the corridor, dressed in his battle gear. Dark leather, steel plates, the greatsword strapped across his back. He looked like what he was—a warrior preparing for war, a Duke about to lead his people into the darkness.
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
