Damien watched her with a mixture of pride and concern, his heart aching at the haunted look that sometimes flickered across her features. He knew the toll the battle had taken on her, the scars that ran deeper than the physical wounds that had nearly claimed her life.

One evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Elara found herself seated at the edge of the camp, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt as she watched the others go about their duties. A sense of unease had settled over her, a nagging feeling that something was amiss.

"Elara?" Seraphina's voice broke through her reverie, her dearest...