Esteria lay motionless on the floor, her breaths shallow, as the air grew heavy with the lingering tension from her collapse. The Larial beside her was still, a silent companion to her unconscious form. The once bustling environment around them had fallen eerily quiet, save for the distant echoes of the Fire Palace—its flickering flames casting shadows on the ground where she lay.
Tarius and his general had been patrolling the outer edges of the Fire Palace when they first caught sight of her. The palace, known for its unforgiving heat, was no place for a weakened body. Yet there she was, far too close to danger, her face pale, her limbs heavy as though weighed down by the secrets she bore.
Tarius' brow furrowed deeply. He knelt beside her, his hands brushing against her wrist, feeling for a pulse. "She's cold," he muttered under his breath, his gaze hardening. He shared a look with his general, a silent exchange of concern.
