It was quiet. Unbearably so.
The kind of silence that didn't comfort, it suffocated.
A soft breeze stirred the drapes as pale morning light spilled gently into the room, illuminating the still figure by the window.
Iyana stood there, her platinum hair catching the sun, eyes distant and glassy as they followed the movements below.
The clashing of swords from the courtyard below echoed faintly. Knights sparring, their blades ringing with strength.
Gods, how she missed sword training.
How she missed the feel of a sword hilt wrapped in her fingers, the satisfying weight of it, the grounding strength it gave her.
Ten months—it had been ten long months since she last held a blade. Eight months in months. Two months locked in this luxurious but empty room. And… one year since she had last seen him.
Vee.
