The morning meal in the great hall was quieter than usual. The long tables were filled with warriors and servants, their voices low, their laughter muted. The midwinter feast was a memory now, the joy of survival fading into the steady rhythm of daily life. But there was a tension in the air, something unspoken that seemed to press against the stone walls.
Kaelen sat at the head of the high table, his usual place, but he was not present. His eyes were fixed on some middle distance, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. He had not spoken since we sat down; had not eaten; had not acknowledged the servants who refilled his cup and set bread before him.
I watched him from the corner of my eye, my heart heavy. The nightmares were taking their toll. The weight of dreams that were not quite memories pressed down on him, stealing his sleep, stealing his peace, and stealing the man I had come to know.
