"Some wars are not fought on battlefields—but in the silence between memories, where guilt and love become blades."
The pier was quiet, kissed by the hush of dawn. Waves lapped against the stone, and the moon still lingered in the sky, half veiled, half watching. I paced along the edge, boots scuffing faint grooves into the ancient marble, though I barely felt the chill biting my skin. I had walked these paths for decades, fought on these waters, bled for this realm. But tonight… I was afraid.
The wind dragged fingers through my hair, and the sea mist clung to my face like a memory I could not wipe clean. Prince Zynarion's image still burned behind my eyes, standing at the shores of the Emerald Gulf, hair wind-tangled, eyes glowing like sea fire, lips parting in a silent call.
"Lysander."
