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Sunrise spilled honey-gold through lattice windows. Mia woke stiff, armour dents imprinted on skin, eyelids gritty. The world felt hollow to her, yet a strange ember glowed inside her chest. It wasn't hope, exactly; more stubborn refusal to let hope die.
She washed swiftly and braided. Her heart was tight, donned a training tunic and cloak. First appointment: review casualty scrolls at Bastion archivum. But before duties she detoured to parapet where desert could still be seen.
Wind carried distant bell chimes from the temple district, rites for the dead had begun. Tiny black figures moved along boulevard preparing pyres of jackal carcasses, drake hides, and ant brothers alike. Mia pressed hand to heart plate.
"I will bring you back," she whispered to morning sky. "One way or another."
