I paced my room like a prisoner counting steps.
Each step was filled with anxiety as I wondered if we could make it through this war without Lyla discovering the truth. The weight of the truth – Mother Liora's last words pressed down on me as the day went by, making each breath feel like a struggle.
One hand clutched my robe tight around my chest, and the other was pressed against my temple like it could hold my thoughts together. But they were spilling anyway—memories, guilt, dread—all of it.
It has been calm and quiet for nearly a week now, but the clouds of war were gathering, and for all my ability to see, I didn't know if this was the final war or if there was more. Nothing was clear these days.
What if we didn't survive this? What will happen if Lyla never knew? Would our armies be able to fight the Dark Forces?"
My stomach twisted, and I hated myself for thinking it, but some part of me wanted the truth buried forever. It was safer that way, simpler, and kinder.
