The markets of Elarindor still bustled as the sun set, though their noise no longer sang with joy. Laughter was rare, smiles rarer still. Serenya Vale walked among the merchants with a healer’s basket in her arms, her hood shadowing her face.To the world, she was Valeen, apprentice to Isolde Mirean, the city’s healer. To herself, she was the last ember of a fallen crown. Every step, every word spoken in disguise, weighed on her like a chain—yet without the mask, she would be hunted down before she ever saw dawn again.“Valeen,” Isolde called from a nearby stall, her silver hair catching the fading light. The old healer’s eyes carried centuries of wisdom, and perhaps more secrets than Serenya would ever uncover. “Did you find the duskroot?”“Yes, Mistress,” Serenya answered softly, lifting the herb from her basket. Her voice was even, polite, ordinary—everything she had trained it to be.Isolde nodded, though her gaze lingered. For years she had taken Serenya in, never asking about th
Last Updated : 2025-09-02 Read more