Chapter 10 - WHERE THE STORMS REST
Years later, when the legends of the Ashen Wood were told around winter hearths across the continent, mothers and fathers spoke not of the terrifying monsters or the cruel pack elders who had vanished into history, but of the Girl Who Kept a Dead King Warm.
They told of how true love and fierce resilience could break the deepest graves and shatter the darkest curses.
High in the Citadel of the Gales, far above the reach of ordinary men, the winter wind howled against the reinforced stone walls, but inside, the rooms were bathed in a steady, comforting warmth.
Jorah sat by the hearth, a heavy woolen blanket draped across her lap, watching the golden flames dance. A pair of strong, familiar arms slid around her from behind, pulling her close against a chest that beat with a steady, unbreakable rhythm.
May you like
She leaned back, smiling as Dawn rested his head beside hers, their fingers intertwining naturally, the silver-laced scars on their palms glowing faintly in the firelight like a map of where they had been, and where they would always stay.
The grave was empty, and the storm had finally found its home.
