The Silverholm docks buzzed with frantic activity as ships were loaded with supplies and soldiers. Metal clanked against metal as weapons and armor were stacked and secured. Orders were shouted across the wooden platforms, creating a chaotic symphony of preparation. But standing at the edge of one particular dock, I felt like time had slowed to an excruciating crawl.
Kaelen stood before me, magnificent in his battle armor. The silver breastplate gleamed in the morning sun, the regal bearings of the Shadow Crest pack etched into the metal. A heavy cloak draped from his broad shoulders, swaying gently in the salt-tinged breeze. He looked every inch the king he was destined to be.
And he was leaving me.
"I don't want you to go," I whispered, my hands clutching the front of his armor. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. I needed to see every detail of his face, to memorize it and hold it close during the dark days ahead.
