The council chamber was tense, lit only by flickering candles that cast long shadows across the maps spread on the table. Lucien stood at the head, his voice steady as he guided his clan through strategies and contingencies. Every word was measured, every plan sharpened by the urgency of Iman's absence. The others debated fiercely — some urging caution, others demanding immediate retaliation — but beneath their arguments lay the same truth: without Iman, Lucien was not the same.
Hours passed in relentless discussion until the council finally dispersed, each member retreating to their quarters with heavy thoughts. Lucien lingered, staring at the maps, his mind drifting away from battle lines to the memory of her smile. When he finally returned to his chamber, the silence pressed in, heavier than any war.
On the bed lay her scarf, folded neatly as if waiting for her return. Lucien picked it up, the faint scent of her still clinging to the fabric. He pressed it to his face, and the memories came rushing back — the way she laughed when teasing him, the warmth of her hand in his, the quiet strength in her gaze when the world seemed to crumble. Each memory was a blade, cutting deep, yet also a balm that reminded him why he fought.
He sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the scarf, his chest tight with longing. For a moment, the weight of leadership fell away, leaving only a man aching for the woman who had become his anchor. He whispered her name into the silence, his voice breaking, then steadied himself with a vow: "I will find you, Iman. No matter the cost. No matter the blood spilled."
The night stretched on, but Lucien did not sleep. He remained with her scarf in his hands, inhaling its scent as though it could keep her close. Outside, the clan prepared for war, but inside his chamber, Lucien's battle was far more personal — a war against despair, fought with memories and love. The chapter closes with him rising at dawn, his resolve hardened. For the clan, the fight was survival; for Lucien, it was salvation.