It was a history lesson, but for Elara, it was personal lore.
The elders of the Stoneheart Horde—those who had marched from the frozen north—didn't tell bedtime stories about fairies. They told stories about the long winters. They told the younglings about the hunger, the cold, and the things that hunted in the dark.
Elara and Pallas had been raised on these stories. They were bred for the end of the world.
Back when she was smaller, simply listening to stories wasn't enough. Elara used to pester Orion relentlessly, climbing all over him until the Giant King agreed to narrate the tales himself.
Those were the golden days. Even Pallas—usually sniffling after getting roughed up in play-fights—would dry his tears and turn into a total suck-up, telling Elara how "pretty and powerful" she was just so she'd let him tag along and listen to their father's voice.
Elara's gaze drifted back to Rhazuun, her expression hardening.
