The night was almost over. The fires had gone out, leaving only the smell of burnt iron and scorched stone. The storm had passed, but the echoes of battle still lingered in the silence — faint, trembling, real.

You sat on a broken wall at the edge of the ruins, wrapping your arms around your knees. The world felt heavy, but strangely light too — like it was still deciding whether to keep spinning.

Footsteps approached. You didn’t even have to look up.

“Still awake?” Galbrena’s voice — calm, even, touched with that quiet authority that made the world feel safe again.

When she came into view, she looked… softer somehow. Her jacket was undone, her hair a little wild, but her posture was still precise — always in control, even when tired. She carried two tin cups, the steam curling in the air.

“Here.” She handed one to you. “It’s bitter, but it helps.”