Sylas
The morning was too bright for a world teetering on the brink of war. But I liked the irony.
I walked down the long corridor of Thronshade's main base, humming softly—a beheading tune Kaelith and I used to sing when we roamed wild with blood on our hands and laughter in our throats.
Ah, sweet youth.
In my right hand, I carried a silver tray filled with steaming food. Ashen bird eggs that only laid during a full moon, roasted herb bread with wind-butter, and a glass of dark purple berry juice said to extend life—or shorten it if brewed with ill intent.
I knocked on Lana's door twice before slowly pushing it open.
"My sweet human, I come bearing breakfast—"
Empty.
The bed was messy. The curtains swayed softly in the artificial breeze. But Lana wasn't here.
Wait.
I stood still.
My ears caught every movement—but nothing.
No sweet scent of her hair.
No nervous energy.
Nothing.
My eyes narrowed, the smile still frozen on my face.
