The days fell into a pleasant routine. Mornings were spent training, with Jolthar dividing his time between honing his Voidwrath techniques and swordsmithing. He never stopped it, just helped around the workshop as it kept his mind at ease.

Afternoons were devoted to Yanna, filled with games, stories, and impromptu lessons on everything from history to basic magic theory.

Evenings found the three of them gathered in Jolthar's chambers, sharing meals and conversation. Yanna would invariably fall asleep curled up beside him, her little face peaceful in slumber.

It was during one such evening, as Jolthar carefully tucked a sleeping Yanna into bed, that Katerina broached a subject that had clearly been weighing on her mind.

"Jolthar," she said softly, "I... I want to thank you. Not just for saving us, but for everything you've done since. I've never seen Yanna so happy, so at ease."

Jolthar felt a lump form in his throat. "I... It's nothing. She's a special child. And you have already thanked me enough."

Katerina shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "It's not nothing. You've given her something she's never had before—a sense of safety, of family. I don't know what the future holds, but I want you to know how much this time has meant to both of us."

Jolthar opened his mouth to respond, but words failed him. Instead, he reached out and squeezed Katerina's hand, hoping the gesture could convey what he couldn't articulate.

A sharp knock at the door broke the morning's quiet. Colinus entered, his usually composed demeanour noticeably disturbed. "Young master, you must come out immediately."

Jolthar had never seen the old man so uneasy. Something was clearly amiss. Turning to Katerina, he spoke with quiet authority, "Stay in this room with Yanna. Don't come out until I return."

Once in the corridor, Jolthar faced Colinus. "What's the matter? Why are you so anxious?"

"Young master, Lady Elara is here."

The words hit Jolthar like a physical blow. "What!" he exclaimed, memories flooding back unbidden. Years had passed since he'd last seen his cousin, but the wounds she'd inflicted remained fresh. He could still remember how she had conspired with his brothers, how they had tortured him in ways that left scars both visible and hidden. Not a single detail had faded from his memory.

The front yard of Stormholme Keep bustled with activity when they arrived. Among the horses and men, two figures stood out—a woman with her hair pulled back in a severe bun, and beside her, a man who towered over everyone else in the yard.

"What's she doing here?" Jolthar's voice was tight with controlled emotion.

Colinus moved closer, speaking in hushed tones. "That man," he indicated the giant beside Elara, "is the rising star of the young generation. Despite coming from a lower noble family, he's made quite a name for himself as the strongest warrior." The old man's voice dropped even lower.

"Young master, Lady Elara has defied the clan's wishes to become his lover."

Before Jolthar could respond, Elara's eyes found him. She approached with deliberate steps, her companion following like a looming shadow.

Jolthar took a deep breath, centring himself as she drew near.

Elara took her time studying him, and Jolthar returned the scrutiny. She had changed—her face had matured, though he doubted her nature had evolved as much as her appearance. With arms crossed, she broke the tense silence. "Well, well, well, gods be damned! Look at you, cousin; now you're looking like half the man."