Evening settled over Regina with a deceptive calm, and though the manor lights glowed warmly against the darkening forest there lingered beneath the quiet a tension that no one could quite name, as though the territory itself sensed a shift beyond its borders that had not yet revealed its shape.
Two lines of soft wind followed.
Branches whispered.
Shadows deepened.
Elara stood alone near the outer garden where the stone path curved toward the forest edge, and her fingers traced lightly along the cold iron railing while the events of the day replayed within her mind with a strange clarity that left her restless.
Three lines of quiet thought passed through her.
The arena.
The silence.
The way the wolves had obeyed her voice.
She exhaled slowly.
Five lines of uncertain reflection moved through her chest while the weight of that moment pressed heavier than any accusation she had once endured.
"That shouldn't have happened."
"Not like that."
"I didn't command them."
