The courtyard lay steeped in a hush so profound that even the night seemed reluctant to breathe, and Elara stood at its heart as though she had been carved from that very stillness, her posture composed yet unyielding, her presence pressing outward with a quiet authority that did not seek recognition yet commanded it entirely.
Her hands rested at her sides, though not loosely, for there lingered within them a subtle tension, a memory of all she had endured, of every whispered judgment that had once forced her shoulders to bend, and as the silence deepened around her, those memories stirred not as wounds but as fuel.
The wolves gathered at the edges of the courtyard.
Watching.
Waiting.
Yet none dared to step closer.
