CHAPTER 52
Diandra leaned back slightly, sighing. The movement pulled faintly at her ribs, and she winced. Her fingers brushed the edge of the bandage at her side.
She had lived as a knight without memory, with instincts guiding her more than memory ever had. But if someone had put those instincts in her, like programming, like sorcery… then who had done it? And why?
Diandra looked down at her hands. There were calloused marks. And instincts told her that it was from using a weapon, a sword in particular. And she didn't despise the idea of killing if threatened.
Is this who I truly am… or who someone made me to be?
The fear that bloomed inside her wasn't from uncertainty—but from the possibility that she might never know the truth. Her gaze drifted up to the sky, pale blue and endless. Somewhere in that horizon, she imagined answers waiting—just beyond what she could reach.
