Irina sat across from her mother at the long dining table, the morning sun filtering through the Emberheart estate's towering windows, casting a chill despite its warmth.
The scent of freshly baked bread and honey lingered in the air, but Irina felt no appetite. After days spent enduring the brutal trials in the Chamber of Emberheart, her body still ached, though it had become stronger in ways even she hadn't anticipated.
But none of it seemed to matter under her mother's gaze.
The Matriarch of the Emberheart family sat silently at the head of the table, her posture impeccable, eyes cold as they regarded her daughter. The faintest twitch of her lips hinted at disapproval. Irina kept her own gaze focused on the table, her fingers poised around her teacup, waiting for her mother's judgment—an inevitable ritual with every achievement, no matter how hard-won.
