She grunted lowly.

Again and again.

And Baron counted to five.

That night, Elowyn collapsed into her cot, muscles burning, ribs sore, and eyes raw from holding back tears.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Even the wind outside the barracks seemed to hush for her descent.

And she dreamed.

She stood in the middle of a battlefield lit by a bleeding crimson moon.

Snow was falling.

Not soft flakes—but shards. Jagged, glowing like embers.

All around her were girls in ...