The path beyond the valley twisted like memory itself—unreliable, beautiful, and full of forks. But Cruzer and Elara had ceased to look for certainty. They walked now with the knowledge that even a broken trail could carry truth.
It was three days before they reached the ruins whispered about in stories: Virellen's Hold, an ancient watchtower once used to guard the borderlands in the time of the old war. Now it slouched like a forgotten sentinel, its stones half-swallowed by vines, its battlements crumbled. A wind moved through it, not mournful, but resolute—as if the walls themselves remembered their purpose.
Elara ran her hand along the weathered gate. "Still standing. Sort of."
"Like us," Cruzer said, half-smiling.
