Snow capped the peak beneath her feet, a soft, untouched layer that shimmered faintly under the pale light of dawn. The air was thin, crisp, carrying a stillness that felt almost sacred. From where she stood, she could tell this was not the highest point of the mountain—the true peak rose behind her, quiet and imposing—but what lay ahead held her attention completely.
Slopes stretched outward, covered in dense pine forests, their dark green dusted with white. The landscape unfolded in gentle curves and distant ridges, serene and untouched.
Catherine stilled.
She had seen this before.
Not here, not in this life—but somewhere deeper, somewhere buried beneath memory and time.
Dravencourt.
The resemblance was too striking to ignore. The slopes, the trees, even the way the light touched the land—it stirred something familiar, something that tightened softly around her chest.
She turned to look at Maximilian, a quiet awe settling in her expression.
