The dust hadn’t even settled.
I was still lighting candles. Still wiping dirt from my hands after laying the last of the Scions to rest. And then… he arrived.
Alphinaud.
The boy with the silver tongue and too-sharp eyes. I’ve met him before—once or twice in passing. I didn’t think much of him then. Polished. Precise. A little too proud. A little too clean.
But today he walked into the church like a storm held in a glass.
He spoke of reviving the Scions. Of continuing the work. Of picking up the pieces and putting them back into something stronger. Something that could stand.
I wanted to scream at him. To tell him it’s too soon. That we haven’t even finished burying our dead. That no plan will make this hurt any less.
But I didn’t.
Because part of me… wants to believe him.
My friends—no. My family—were taken from me. If there’s any chance, any path, any alliance that will help me get them back, then I’ll take it.
Even if it means putting my trust in a boy with ambition in his voice and strategy in his smile.
So I’ll walk beside Alphinaud.
For now.
But if he strays—if this path turns from honor to ego—I will not follow quietly.
