The room beyond was dimly lit, the walls lined with tapestries that depicted scenes of triumph and tragedy. In the center of the room, lying on a bed draped in silks, was his sister.
She looked frail, her skin pale and her breathing shallow. But her eyes—those piercing, defiant eyes—were the same as they had always been. She turned to him, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Zeph," she said, her voice weak but steady. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Zephyros crossed the room in a few quick strides, his heart pounding in his chest. He knelt beside her bed, his hand reaching for hers. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was firm.
"I'm here," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm here."
For a moment, they simply sat there, the silence between them speaking volumes. Then, his sister's gaze shifted to Celeste, who stood silently in the doorway.
"You brought her," his sister said, her tone unreadable.
