"I see…" Mikhailis murmured, his storm-gray eyes fixed on Elowen. The words hung in the air between them, heavy as the forest mist she'd just described. Neither moved, the atmosphere thick with the weight of Elowen's story.
She had just opened her heart to him, painting a vivid picture of her childhood in the ancient forest, of her wise grandmother Sylvara, and the shocking truth of her lineage—a heritage that tied her to both the enigmatic dark elves and the noble royal family. It was a tale of a girl who had once known only the whispers of leaves and the songs of birds—a life far removed from the suffocating burdens of royalty and politics, a life that to her had been the very definition of home.
