The corridors inside the fortress were colder than outside, the stone walls carrying the bite of the mountain air. Trafalgar's footsteps echoed softly as he followed the directions Seradra had given him. His hand brushed the rough surface of the wall. At the end of the hall, a modest oak door stood slightly ajar, light spilling faintly through the crack.
He pushed it open.
The room was simple—no banners, no finery, just a hearth smoldering with low fire. On a worn rug near the flames sat two small figures, identical in every way. The twins, Eron and Mael, were huddled together with wooden soldiers in their hands, whispering to one another as they played.
Beside them sat Sylis. Her back was straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap as if forcing herself to look composed. But her eyes—green like her mother's—betrayed the weight she carried.
She looked up at the sound of the door, surprise flashing across her face. For a moment her lips parted, but no words came out.
