Seirion reached the altar hall without fully remembering how he had crossed the corridors to get there.
The altar hall, which during the day was always filled with prayers, was now completely deserted. The torchlight barely reached the marble reliefs; the shadows seemed still, rigid, unaware of the chaos raging inside Seirion.
But the hall was not entirely empty.
In the farthest corner, where the dimness softened every contour, someone sat curled up on the floor, breathing unevenly.
It was Lenna.
For the first time since remembering her, Lenna was no longer a blurred figure or a distorted echo in Seirion's mind. It was really her, her dark hair falling down her back, trembling, hugging herself as tears slipped silently onto the cold stone.
She was curled up as if trying to shrink down to the size of a child, as if that corner could protect her from the world, from pain, from him.
Something in Seirion's chest cracked at the sight.
