Dawn eventually slipped over the camp, discreet and pale, as if it didn't dare disturb those who were still keeping watch.
When I opened my eyes, Lysara was already awake.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, upright, perfectly calm, she seemed to be meditating—or perhaps simply in that silent concentration she adopted every morning, like a ritual she never explained. Her gaze was steady, yet distant, anchored somewhere between what we had been through and what still awaited us.
She wore, as usual, her mimic armor.
And this time again, it had taken on the exact form of the dark kimono she preferred—the one whose lines evoked both her pride and our bond. A simple garment, without embellishment, but tailored for her like a second skin. It hid nothing of her determination, nor her femininity. It said, in silence, everything that words would have burdened.
She didn't speak.
Not right away.
And in the light calm of dawn, I understood that this day would be different.
