She looked at Yuuta's eyes, and she saw hope there, bright and fragile and desperately alive. It was the same hope she had seen years ago, in another pair of eyes.
Violet eyes.
Determined eyes.
The eyes of her son.
The memory rose unbidden, pulling her back through time to the throne room of Atlantis, to a moment she had nearly forgotten.
The throne room had been cold that day, not with winter, but with the weight of centuries pressing down from the vaulted ceiling.
Erza sat on the throne of frozen dawn, her silver hair cascading over the armrest, her violet eyes scanning the documents spread across the stone arm of her chair.
Trade agreements. Border disputes.
Petitions from nobles who wanted more than they deserved.
In her lap, Elena slept peacefully.
