The morning sun crept through the narrow cracks of the wooden shutters, golden light spilling across the small room. Edward stirred as the warmth brushed his face, his eyes fluttering open.
For a moment, he stared at the ceiling, the faint sound of birdsong drifting through the window.
Then, without warning, he sat up.
His body felt… different. Not tired or stiff like it usually did after a short night's sleep, but strangely light—energised even. Almost as if he had slept for days rather than just few hours.
He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to piece together the scattered fragments of last night. The dinner with the elven royalty… the sudden death of Elandir… and that old elf...
"Thyrion," he muttered under his breath once the name finally clicked.
Edward frowned, leaning back against the headboard. The memory of that tea and the bizarre, distorted place he had seen still lingered in his mind. It felt too real to be a dream, yet too impossible to be anything else.
