Chapter 711 - Sylara's Inner Turmoil (1)

Sylvanna hunched closer to the camp-fire, trying to coax heat into fingers that wouldn't stop trembling. The mug she held—a plain clay thing, chipped along one rim—should have been scalding; instead it felt lukewarm, as though the chill in her blood leeched warmth from everything it touched. She watched the last tongues of flame lick a half-collapsed log, embers settling into ash like dying stars. Each crackle reminded her of Raëdrithar's lightning—beautiful, destructive, hers to command and somehow still alien.