Days passed, each one marked by the quiet rhythm of palace life. Yet for Luke, the tranquil beauty of the elven kingdom only deepened the gnawing anxiety that had taken root in his chest. At first, he dismissed it, chalking it up to restlessness or homesickness. But as time passed, the feeling grew stronger, darker, more insistent.
He paced the room assigned to him, his thoughts circling back to Nateron like a moth to a flame. He tried to convince himself that everything would be fine. King Alf was a wise and capable ruler. With his unwavering faith, Gareth would surely guide the people through any storm. Father Wingate, the steady pillar of the cathedral, had a way of rallying even the faintest of hearts. These were not people who would falter easily.
