Aranea hadn't said a word since they returned.
She clutched Elenea's hand tightly as they walked through the hallway, her steps unsteady despite the silence that had followed the chaos.
The lingering scent of smoke still clung to her clothes, her hair, her skin—no matter how many times she tried to ignore it. It felt as though it had etched itself into her memory.
Elenea hadn't let go of her once.
The moment they reached their shared room, Elenea locked the door behind them and gently guided her to the edge of the bed.
"Let me help," she whispered softly.
She didn't press for answers. She didn't demand details. She simply helped her sister out of the tattered remains of her uniform, drawing a warm bath like she used to when Aranea was too sick to move during their younger years.
Aranea let her, grateful for the quiet comfort.
