I delved deeper into Delilah's dream, immersing myself in a vivid memory fragment of that historic meeting. The nine of them stood before a magnificent white tower, so immense it pierced the clouds, its peak lost to sight. Its ancient structure radiated a powerful, mysterious aura.
I recognized them all. There was my father, Freyden, his posture upright and his eyes filled with a determination I would never see again. Beside him was a younger Delilah, breathtakingly graceful, a stark contrast to the broken, submissive woman I had molded.
Charlotte Haverty stood among them. Her appearance had hardly changed from the present day. She still carried bright, lively eyes and a warm, energetic smile. Her chestnut-blonde hair fluttered in the wind.
