Lara and Agilus exchanged uneasy glances, the kind that spoke without words. Their eyes then settled on Aramis—no, not Aramis, but the hollow shell of him—standing unnervingly still, his gaze unfocused as though caught in some invisible snare.
"Aramis," Agilus said carefully, his voice stripped of its usual playfulness. He stepped closer and tapped his friend's shoulder. "Hey… are you with us?"
Aramis blinked.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
And with each blink, the past wavered until the Aegis palace dissolved into the smoke-choked ruins of memory. His grip on his bow grew rigid, the string pulled so tight that the wood groaned in protest. His knuckles blanched, and when he exhaled, it was sharp and ragged—like a man trying to force the ghosts back into the darkness, only to find them clinging tighter. His eyes stared through them, locked on some distant battlefield they could not see..
