The northern peaks had become unbearably silent since Eryndor's departure. The weight of the gong he had left her pressed on her more than its bronze shape should allow, and its spirals whispered mysteries that Serenya still did not dare to unravel. She walked through the galleries at dusk; outside; the snow burned in golden tones under the last light. Yet no warmth penetrated her chambers; every corner seemed carved from the same silence that had kept her prisoner for so long.
There were nights when that silence grew sharp, as if it could cut her from the inside. The echo of her steps on the frozen marble stretched on too long, giving back to her a loneliness she had not chosen but now wore like a cloak that was far too heavy. Every column, every arch of the Citadel murmured stories that were not hers, tales of ancient conquests, of promises sealed with ice and iron. In the midst, there she was, a crowned intruder, trying to remember where her own dreams ended and other people's expectations began.
It was in that moment, when she felt most alone, that the sound reached her.
A laugh. Light, clear, completely out of place among those halls of ice. Serenya froze, her pulse speeding up in disbelief. That bright note shattered the stillness like a stone thrown onto a frozen lake, creating invisible cracks in the surface of her resignation. It took her a couple of breaths to realise it was not a memory, nor an echo from another time, but a real, present, living sound.
That laugh could only belong to one person.
Her mind clung to the name even before her body reacted. Elyra. The memory of that voice had been for years a secret refuge where she hid whenever the Citadel's walls seemed to close in around her. She had dreamed of that laugh on stormy nights, had mistaken it for the wind between the battlements, for the crackle of the fire in the throne room. But she had never expected to hear it there, truly, tearing from the frozen air something that dangerously resembled hope.
When she turned, her heart lurched.
Elyra was standing beneath the arch of the great hall, a mantle of emerald velvet falling from her shoulders, her brown hair marked by faint strands of time that Serenya had not seen pass. But her eyes—those bright and lively eyes—had not gone dim. They shone with the same mischief that, long ago, had challenged Serenya to cross rivers barefoot, to climb where there were no paths, to imagine citadels where none existed.
The evening light filtered through the tall windows, catching on the edge of Elyra's mantle and drawing out glimmers that recalled the valley meadows in spring. Around her, the great hall, accustomed to receiving stern delegations and formal banquets, seemed smaller, almost cozy, as if Elyra's mere presence had shifted the room's centre of gravity. Serenya felt the air change; the cold was still there, but it stepped back, as if it too were forced to yield before that apparition from the past.
For an instant, the years dissolved, and Serenya was once more the girl of the golden peaks.
She ran toward her; Eryndor's gong remained on the marble table, momentarily forgotten. Serenya's steps rang through the hall, hurried, out of sync with the solemnity of the place. She felt the cloak she wore open behind her like a dark wing, but she did not stop. Each stride was a leap from the present back toward a time she had thought lost.
"Elyra!" Her voice broke between laughter and tears as they embraced, their foreheads pressed together in the old valley gesture, breaths intertwined with wordless memories.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. There was no need. Serenya's hands clung to Elyra's mantle as if she feared she might vanish if she let go, like an illusion too perfect to belong in the Citadel. She could smell a trace of resin and icy wind in her hair, the very scent of the slopes where they had grown up. She felt something inside her, rigid for far too long, begin to loosen even as a stab of fear ran through her: if Elyra was there, if the valley had come to find her, perhaps she could no longer hide behind her excuses.
The two women were now seated before the fire in Serenya's private chambers. A rare warmth crackled against the crystalline walls. She had dismissed the maids, leaving them alone, as in childhood. Serenya watched her friend as if she wanted to memorize her all over again. Tears filled her eyes with a mixture of longing and affection.
The fire, almost always reduced to mere ceremony in that frozen Citadel, seemed to behave differently today. The embers breathed slowly, casting tongues of light that reflected off the gong's bronze and the green veins of Elyra's mantle. Each flicker drew out new nuances in her face: the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, the slight hardness in her jaw that had not been there before, the steadiness of someone who had had to bear more than she admitted. Serenya felt a stab of guilt as she thought of all that Elyra must have lived through in her absence.
Serenya smiled through her tears.
"Elyra… I cannot believe it is truly you."
Her voice came out hoarse, as if it were not used to speaking words so full of affection. In recent months, her phrases had been reduced to orders, reports, court formulas. Saying Elyra's name aloud was like opening a window in a closed room: fresh air came in, but so did the risk that what was inside would fly away.
Elyra laughed and hugged her even tighter.
"Believe it. The Peaks would not stop talking about you, so I thought I had better come see what trouble you had gotten yourself into."
Her light tone did not fully deceive Serenya. Beneath the teasing there was an edge of worry, a low note that only someone who knew her so well would have noticed. Elyra held her at arm's length to look her over, as if assessing the damage that the altitude, the solitude, and Taelthorn had wrought in her. Her fingers brushed briefly over the heavy fabric of Serenya's tunic, that symbol of her new station that seemed to weigh as much as the gong.
Serenya studied her closely.
"You have changed. The mountains have left their mark on you."