That night, Aesther could not sleep.
She grew weary with each passing moment, feeling too exhausted to remain awake and too much throbbing in her heart to fall asleep.
It took her a while to realise how much she had overexerted herself by using healing magic carelessly. But Aesther had to know her limit.
She had to know how many times she can heal others.
How many times she can heal herself?
Eventually, the night under the snow pushed her closer to the edge and in the lone darkness of her haunting new room, Aesther soon succumbed to a deep feverish haze.
Her dreams were muddled at first, remnants of broken memories and forgotten times before slowly descending into the buried depths of her heart.
It was perhaps the last time they shared in peace.
After the fall of Nesmeria, the rise of a new tyranny, and the cruel times that lasted for several years… finally, things started to seem better. The raging waves of the warring seas were calming down.
Ezrahl was severely ill.
