Three days.
That was all that had passed, and already it felt like an eternity. Three days since the reconnaissance teams had left. Three days in which Élisa had found herself—without ever truly choosing it—bearing a weight that exceeded her wounded flesh.
She was the only one still able to fight—more or less, at least enough for the others to see her as a pillar. So they had given her that responsibility, and she had accepted it, without a word.
The camp, however, had seen no major assault. Shadows prowled, tested the defenses, but nothing crossed the boundary—nothing that could truly shatter their fragile balance. Those skirmishes, far from exhausting her, had almost been a blessing. Through them, Élisa had gathered anima gems—small, yes, but enough to feed her spiritual core. Each absorption purged a little more of the impurities in her body, stitched together her wounds, restored breath to the inner machine that pain had slowed.
