ELARA
Two days in this silent, suffocating fortress. Two days of being nothing more than a ghost.
No warmth. No words. Not even from Draven.
The staff moved around me as if I didn't exist. Polite, distant, obedient—but empty. Their gazes flicked past me, their movements careful, calculated.
Not out of respect. Out of fear. No one welcomed me. No one spoke unless necessary.
They bowed, performed their duties, and vanished—like I was some delicate, dangerous thing they couldn't afford to acknowledge.
At first, I told myself it was just an adjustment period. That they would warm to me.
But the more I watched them, the more I realized—this wasn't an adjustment. This was a rule. And I was the only one who didn't know my place.
I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed open the door, the heavy wood groaning as if even it objected to my presence.
The hallway beyond was dim, endless, the torches casting long, jagged shadows against the stone.
