{"We stepped through ancient wards and whispering woods, not to chase war, but to follow the pulse of something older, trust, fate, and the flame that leads us home."}
The hearth burned low in Ysara's hidden house in Ashmere, golden dusk slanting through the windowpanes and catching on motes of dust that danced like whispers. The scent of pine, smoke, and the distant ocean wrapped around me, familiar and strangely grounding. I stood near the open doorway, leaning against the frame with arms folded, watching the women in the room. Fenris stood to my left, silent as ever, though I could feel his unease like heat rising from sunbaked stone. His posture was rigid, but his eyes flickered between Ysara and Ellowen like he was trying to read something ancient written across their skin.
