If they keep giving they’ll die.
Will bleeding them dry save the realms?
Will it even work?
“I don’t know,” she admits. “We won’t know until?—”
The man hovering over the steaming cauldron rises like he’s seen a ghost. Or remembered one.
“Dawnmere,” he whispers, voice distant and confused.
Rubi’s eyes blow wide.
“What did you say?” Rubi snaps, desperation flashing through her. “Say it again!”
Saana leans forward, her movements stilling.
“The monarchy,” the man whispers, eyes darting around the room like he’s rifling through memories that are barely there.That are returning.
His eyes snap up then.
“The Dawnmere Monarchy ruled Dravara,” he breathes, and conviction finds its way into his words.
“You remember,” Rubi murmurs, tears filling her eyes like his memory is her redemption.
Her eyes snap to Lara’s.
She understands.
Calculates.
“We have enough,” Rubi nods, her movements speeding up at the realization that she might actually free memory.
But that’s not why Lara’s here.
“I need the Melders,” she says, her voice free of sentiment.
Vren steps forward from the edge of the chamber, blood still running in rivers down his forearms, his presence cutting through the tension. His gaze locks onto hers, suspicion flickering beneath it.
“You’ve got a strange way of asking for help, witch,” he says.
“I’m not asking,” Lara replies coolly.
A heartbeat passes.
They stare at one another, years of rivalry, opposition, and carefully maintained distance sitting between them like a living thing.
“Whatareyou doing?” he asks finally.
Lara holds his gaze.
“Fixing it.”
Something shifts. Nothing as absolute as trust. Definitely not that. Butunderstanding. He sees it—the difference.
“Like the old days?” she asks, and the words taste bitter on her tongue. And they strike with force.
Vren’s expression changes.
