Lilith sat in contemplation, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the early morning sun began its relentless assault on the desert. The terrace where she rested jutted high above a canyon, its northwest-facing position offering a brief respite from the heat and glare. The air hung dry and heavy, carrying the faint scent of sun-scorched stone.

  Behind her, the vast chamber extended seamlessly from the terrace, shaped by wind and time. The space opened to the desert air, offering both freedom and sanctuary—with secluded areas providing shelter when the desert's fury demanded it.

  Dungr’s footsteps broke the stillness.

  She inhaled, gathered herself, and rose, taking one final look at the endless expanse. His arrival marked the end of a two-decade chapter—one filled with loss, pain, and unanswered prayers. Now, its conclusion hung heavy in the air, and she dreaded the futility of it all.

  Turning, she studied the man who had been her friend since her memory's dawn. Dungr stood at attention, the desert's mingled scent of sweat and sun still clinging to him. Though they shared a bond deeper than words could express, he would maintain his formal bearing until she gave him leave to relax.

  Lilith's eyes softened as she gazed at him, an ache of possibilities surfacing unbidden. She had often wondered how different her life might have been if she had chosen Dungr as her bond.

  Young, ambitious, and eager to please her father, she had chosen Gaineth—the obvious choice then. Though she did not regret it—Gaineth had proven steadfast, loyal, and loving—as the years passed, she longed for what Dungr might have offered: a quieter strength, a deeper understanding.

  Yet there he stood, unwavering as ever. His eyes held something unexpected—not the sorrow this day demanded, not the reckoning with the loss she had braced herself for. Instead, in Dungr's gaze, flickered something else: hope. The sight unnerved her.

  "Speak, Dungr," she said at last, her voice calm but threaded with tension. "I see there is more than what I fear. Do not hold back—not today."

  Dungr hesitated, weighing his words carefully. His formal stance softened as he stepped closer. When he reached for her hand, she allowed the gesture—an uncharacteristic touch that spoke to the gravity of his news.

  “My brother has returned," he began, his voice steady. "With the box—with Margo."

  The name struck her like a blow, but she held his gaze, refusing to let the moment's weight break her. For too many years, she had knelt before the Gods and Fates, begging for her daughter's safety, sanity, and return. And now, Margo was here—or what remained of her, at least: a body carried home in a hollowed box.

  Dungr must have sensed the tremor in her hand and seen how her lips tightened against the rising tide of grief. Yet his eyes fixed hers, holding that same flicker of hope.

  "There's more," he said softly, as if afraid to shatter her fragile composure.

  Her breath caught. "Speak, Dungr," she said. "Do not make me drag it from you."

  He squeezed her hand, reassuring her. "Rugr says... her body still lives."

  Her knees buckled, and Dungr moved to steady her, his firm grip anchoring her upright. The words echoed in her mind, each one igniting a spark she hadn't dared nurture for decades. Margo—alive? It defied comprehension and surpassed hope itself. Yet it was spoken by the man she trusted above all others.

  "There's more," Dungr added, his voice dropping even softer.

  Her trembling hands gripped his tighter as her composure crumbled. "Why do you hesitate? Tell me."

  "Your granddaughter," he said, his voice steady against her storm of emotions. "She lives. She has returned to the desert. She placed a seal on the box herself—a protective one. Rugr says she and Margo share a connection, though how or why eludes him."

  Lilith's breath escaped in a sharp gasp as she sank to her knees, overwhelmed by the weight of revelation. The infant girl—lost at three days old—had been little more than a memory for so long. After years of mourning that loss, she had then lost Margo as well. Yet now, both were alive. Both had returned.

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  Dungr knelt beside her, gripping her hands tightly. His unwavering presence anchored her against the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

  She pushed back the memories, forcing down the grief and longing that threatened to overwhelm her. This was the present. Action, not tears, was needed now. The Gods and Fates had answered her prayers in their twisted way. Now, she had to face whatever lay ahead.

  "Help me up," she whispered. Dungr lifted her with gentle strength, steadying her on her feet. She squared her shoulders, her voice finding its resolve. "I must speak with Rugr immediately. Whatever the Fates' reason for choosing this moment, their design casts its shadow. We must prepare for what comes next."

  Dungr's gaze held hers, an unspoken understanding passing between them. With a slight nod, he turned to lead her back inside.

  Lilith stepped out of the chamber, leaving Rugr, the box, and the boy inside. She closed the door and leaned against it, her hand resting on the carved frame. The weight of the moment pressed down upon her. Margo was alive—alive—yet uncertainty lingered like a shadow. She drew a deep breath to steady herself, but approaching footsteps jolted her attention.

  A small contingent of protectors halted before her, their gazes shifting uneasily toward the door behind her.

  "This room holds the remains of my daughter," she said, her voice sharp as steel. "It is sacred ground. No one shall enter or leave without my permission."

  One of the protectors stepped forward, his stance formal but his voice uncertain. "We have orders from Gaineth. The Astirian boy must be held in a cell in the Dakmur until his fate is decided."

  Lilith's eyes narrowed, her tone turning to ice. "And now you have orders from me. If you desecrate the sanctity of my daughter's remains, it will be the last order you disobey." The weight of her words hung in the air, carrying as much authority as her husband's.

  The protectors exchanged uneasy glances before offering slight bows. Though caught between conflicting commands, they knew better than to challenge her authority.

  "Stand watch," she continued. "No one enters or leaves."

  Without awaiting their response, she turned and strode down the hall with determined steps. She had to reach Gaineth quickly—the situation would unravel. Her husband would be consumed by thoughts of vengeance rather than grasping at the delicate threads of hope now within their reach.

  Lilith swept past the guards outside Gaineth's chamber, their halfhearted attempts to block her dissolving at her mere presence. She thrust open the heavy doors and strode inside, commanding immediate attention. The tension in the room hung thick and electric, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

  Dungr stood near the center, his face etched with frustration, while Gaineth remained seated, radiating his stubborn authority. The others exchanged uneasy glances, their discomfort deepening as Lilith strode in. Several winced at her entrance, already anticipating the confrontation to come.

  Without hesitation, she spoke. "On my life, no harm will come to Rugr or the boy," she declared, her voice resonating through the chamber. "They will remain free and be treated as honored guests."

  Gaineth's expression hardened, his irritation evident. "I have already given orders," he said, his voice clipped. "The boy will be held in the Dakmur. As for Rugr, his fate remains undecided."

  Lilith's lips curved into a mocking smile. She swept into an exaggerated bow, her contempt plain to see. "Forgive me, your grace. I hadn't realized his majesty had already made his proclamation."

  Her words struck home, and Gaineth's frustration deepened. "Lilith, this is not the time," he said, his voice dropping but remaining firm.

  Her gaze hardened. "Have I no voice in this? Has Dungr no voice? Have you crowned yourself King to impose your will without counsel?"

  Gaineth remained silent, though his grimace revealed his thoughts.

  "Today of all days, Gaineth," she continued, her voice unwavering. "Our daughter has returned—she lives. We've learned our granddaughter breathes and walks the desert. Yet here you sit, haunted by old ghosts, moved only by your endless thirst for revenge."

  His patience shattered; Gaineth exhaled sharply and fixed her with a burning stare. "Would you have me forgive those who committed genocide against our people?"

  Lilith stepped closer, her eyes blazing. "You think I've forgotten?" she said, her voice soft but fierce. "I will never forgive the Sa Kamal for their treachery—or the conspirators who aided them. But this fight no longer belongs to us. The younger generations must forge their path. It is not ours to dictate."

  Gaineth shook his head, his voice softening though his resolve remained firm. "And yet you would hand them a world shaped by those who slaughtered us?"

  "I would hand them a world," Lilith said firmly. "You would leave them nothing but ashes."

  Gaineth stared at her, his resolve wavering under the weight of her words. She leaned closer, her voice sharp as a blade. "Have you forgotten our ways? Always look forward, never back."

  For a long moment, silence stretched between them. At last, Gaineth sighed, his anger dissolving into resignation. "We will not resolve this here. As you wish, Rugr and the boy will remain unharmed." He turned to Dungr. "Lead a patrol to find the girl. If she survives the Spider Queen, our daughter's fate will be secured."

  Lilith's chest constricted at the thought of the girl failing. She turned to Dungr, unable to mask her desperation. "Find her," she whispered, her voice gentler now. "Bring her home."