Arya was inside a familiar room.
Soft curtains swayed gently as morning light filtered through the window. The air felt warm… peaceful.
Then
"Arya… brother… wake up."
A voice.
Gentle. Familiar.
Arya frowned slightly, his consciousness slowly rising to the surface. The voice came again, clearer this time.
"Brother, wake up!"
His eyelids trembled. Slowly very slowly Arya opened his eyes.
Sunlight poured directly onto his face, blinding him. He winced and raised his hand to block the glare, squinting through the brightness. A shadow stood in front of him, her outline glowing like a halo against the sun.
"…Aisha?" he whispered.
As his eyes adjusted, the figure became clear.
It was her.
Aisha.
His little sister.
She stood there in simple clothes, her hair slightly messy, her expression bright and innocent. Too innocent.
Arya's breath caught in his throat.
"…No," he murmured. "That's not possible…"
Aisha was young. Too young. Just a child.
But she had died.
Hadn't she?
