The night pressed close against the citadel, the air heavy with the taste of something half-remembered. The valley slept uneasily, its rivers whispering secrets to the trees while the moon bled silver across the ruined battlements.
Damian stood on the parapet, cloak stirring in the wind. Below him, the courtyard glimmered faintly where the god's light had once torn open the world. The stones had cooled, but he could still feel the pulse beneath them—a rhythm too ancient to belong to the earth.
He should have felt relief. The storm had passed. The keep was whole again. But peace, he'd learned, was only the silence between awakenings.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"I can't sleep," the girl said quietly.
