The grey northern light filtered through my window, pale and soft, the kind of light that seemed to hold its breath. I woke slowly, my body still heavy with the exhaustion that had settled into my bones after the battle. For a long moment, I simply lay there, staring at the stone ceiling, listening to the sounds of the fortress waking around me.
The wounded called out for healers. Servants moved through the corridors, their footsteps quick and purposeful. Somewhere in the distance, a hammer rang against metal—the smiths, already at work repairing the damage the wave had wrought.
It was the sound of life continuing. The sound of survival.
I rose and dressed, pulling on a simple wool dress, the fabric soft and warm against my skin. Runa's braid was still in my hair, the gold threads catching the pale light. I touched it, remembering her words. For the village. For the fight. For everything.
