wrong

The night was calm, but Esteria's mind was anything but. She lay in her chambers, staring at the ornate ceiling, replaying the day's events. Gladius's final words echoed in her thoughts: Tomorrow, we prepare for war.

War. The word sat heavy in her chest, bringing with it a mix of dread and determination. She had trained relentlessly, pushed herself beyond her limits, but the thought of battle—of facing Vincent and his kin—made her stomach churn.

Her hand drifted to her chest, brushing against the faint scar hidden beneath her tunic. The memory of Vincent's betrayal was as sharp as the blade he had plunged into her heart. No matter how much time passed, the pain lingered, a constant reminder of why she was here.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, sitting up.

The door creaked open, and Leon stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He carried a small tray with a steaming cup of tea.