Whispers of the Golden Era

Alister felt the weight of his father's words lingering in the air like an echo that refused to fade.

He hadn't expected this reunion to stir such emotions—pride, regret, even a sliver of warmth tucked beneath layers of indifference.

Galisk's presence was both familiar and foreign, like a song he'd heard in childhood but couldn't recall the lyrics to.

Mar'Garet leaned in slightly. "My lord, you're awfully quiet. Does your heart flutter with sentiment, or is it just the awkwardness of family reunions?"

Alister's eyes turned toward her, a faint look of amusement breaking through the stoic façade he usually wore.

He allowed a soft exhale, smiling.

"Perhaps," he replied simply.

Mar'Garet chuckled softly, her fingers brushing a stray strand of her silver hair behind her ear.

"Well, you look happy. It suits you, my love."

Galisk clapped his hands together suddenly, breaking the moment with a grin that could light up a war room.