Chapter 18 Embers Of The Past

• Morning in Noctaris was not what it once was.
• Smoke still lingered over the capital, hanging like a veil between the sky and the scars of war. Ash coated the rooftops like snow. Streets that once thrived with market stalls and street performers now echoed with the sounds of rebuilding—hammers striking timber, soldiers barking orders, and healers tending to the wounded. Hope lingered, but it was fragile.
• Inside the palace, Elara sat at the edge of a long oak table in the war room, her eyes fixed on a burning map of the realm.