The castle had never felt colder, emptier, or more suffocating than it did now.
Sylvithra paced restlessly across the polished marble floor of the grand throne room, each step echoing sharply through the oppressive silence. She moved like a caged predator, powerful muscles tense beneath her robes, silver eyes glittering dangerously as they flicked repeatedly toward the wide windows that offered a panoramic view of Velmoria. Moonlight poured through the glass, bathing the towering marble columns and intricate tapestries in cold silver hues, illuminating the fine threads embroidered with scenes of past triumphs, ancient battles, and the glorious legacy of their bloodline.
Yet tonight, none of it mattered. The grandeur, the power, the carefully constructed elegance it felt hollow, meaningless.
Because Elyzara was gone.
