The name lingered in the air like incense.
Ilyana.
Aiden rolled the word across his tongue silently, as though speaking it aloud would shatter the fragile peace that had settled between them. His ribs still screamed from the impact, but the sight of her—the strange, sacred weight of her presence—drew his pain into background noise.
Arina did not share his awe.
Her eyes narrowed, sharp as daggers as she studied the woman and child. "Hasa… of this region," she repeated, voice cutting through the stillness. "That means you're tied to the Tree. A keeper, or more."
The elf's chin lifted, though her arms tightened around her daughter. "Yes."
Just one syllable, soft, but it struck like a stone dropped into still water.
Aiden leaned against the wall, squinting. "Keeper? Of what?"
Arina didn't look at him. "Not of what. Of who."
Aiden frowned, but the elf—Ilyana—spoke before he could ask.
