Elias froze.
The faint shuffle echoed through the hollow, fire-scarred hall; a soft, deliberate sound against the charred marble floor. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword. Morning light filtered weakly through the broken windows, pale and ghostly, catching the drifting ash that hung like spirits in the air.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing as he searched the shadows. The scent of smoke lingered, but beneath it, something else. Sharp. Medicinal. Wrong for a ruin. Someone had been here.
His boots crunched over fragments of glass and scorched wood as he moved deeper into the hall. The silence pressed around him, thick and uneasy, as though the house itself was holding its breath.
Then… a flicker. A silhouette by the staircase.
Elias tensed, drawing his blade halfway before the figure stepped into the light.
For a moment, he thought it a trick of his mind. A ghost, perhaps, summoned by longing. But then…
"Sir Al?" His voice came out rough.
