Return to the Town

The gates of Elandra came into view just past noon, their iron-bound wood flanked by tall watchtowers carved with ivy and eagle motifs. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys within, and the faint sounds of hammers, bells, and distant voices bled through the stone walls. After days in the wild, the city's familiar silhouette was oddly comforting—and heavy. It meant explanations. Truths. Losses.

Inigo adjusted the sling of his M4, the matte-black weapon now dulled by dust and wear. Beside him, Lyra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. They'd spoken little that morning, save for the necessary. Words had become heavy. Each one risked opening wounds neither of them were ready to touch.