Boren didn't even realize he had started walking. His feet moved on their own, leading him out of the inner garden, across the pale stone bridge, past the flowering walls and whispering chimes, away from the place where he had finally voiced the words he had buried for a lifetime.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves above him, casting gentle patterns on the paved path, but none of it reached his eyes.
They were unfocused and dim, clouded with memories of his sister's face, her voice echoing in his mind, and the sharp finality of her words.
Each step felt heavy, as if the estate itself was pressing down on his shoulders, reminding him of where he stood, who he was supposed to be, and what he could never escape.
His chest burned, not just with anger but with something far more corrosive: a slow suffocation of resentment, sorrow, confusion, and fatigue that had been building inside him for as long as he could remember.
Why?
