Avon and Astrid stepped out of the council room momentarily, the heavy wooden doors creaking shut behind them. The weight of everything they had just heard still lingered in the air between them—Phoenix's true identity, the return of George as Cyrus, and the looming battle against an ancient corruption that threatened all of Serenith.
But as much as Avon worried about the realm's fate, his immediate concern was for the woman walking beside him.
Astrid walked with confidence, her white cloak billowing slightly as she moved. The glow of the enchanted lanterns lining the halls cast a soft, golden light on her face, accentuating the quiet determination in her expression. She had always been strong—stronger than most gave her credit for—but Avon knew her well enough to sense the exhaustion behind her steady composure.
