Kingdom of Arndell~
The night lay thick over the river, its waters gliding under the silver glow of the full moon.
Eleanora sat on a worn stone by the bay, her golden sword resting beside her, its hilt still warm from the grip of her relentless training.
The night air, damp with the scent of earth and water, clung to her skin as she exhaled—her breath unsteady, not from exhaustion, but from the storm raging within.
Eleanora was particularly fond of the river for some unknown reason,
Maybe it was because her ice magic comes from water that she always feels peaceful around the river, bathing in moonlight.
Eleanora hissed as she tried to move; her shoulder ached in pain.
But the ache in her heart was more painful, from the memories she had tried to carve away with every swing of her blade.
The past was merciless, striking harder than any foe. The faces—ones she had loved, ones she had lost—emerged like specters from the depths of the river's shifting surface.
