"The Anchor does not fight with sword or fury he holds the world steady, and in his steadiness, victory blooms."
ELIAS'S POV
I woke slowly, drifting up from a depth of rest I hadn't known since before the war began. It wasn't the shallow, anxiety-riddled sleep of the persecuted, but the profound, restorative peace granted by absolute safety and absolute love. The air around me was thick, warm, and powerfully sweet, saturated with the scent of Crownspice. It felt like lying submerged in a fragrant, golden essence. My body was heavy, weighed down by a delicious, unmoving pressure. My first conscious realization was the silence. The Northern Castle had been a living creature preparing for a death struggle when I fell asleep in Alaric's arms. Now, the overwhelming clamor of mobilization, the shouts of commanders, the rhythmic clank of weapons, the urgent pace of feet was gone. The absence of sound was deafening.
