Ahcehera moved through the ruins of the Mors Dukedom, her heart pounding against her ribs as she scanned every corner of the desolate land. The air was filled with the scent of dried blood and decay, a heavy fog clinging to the remnants of the estate.
With every step, she felt the absence pressing down on her chest. Rohzivaan was not here. No matter how many times she searched, no matter how deeply she ventured into the collapsed halls and torn-down fortifications, there was nothing.
The search and rescue teams spread across the land, their voices echoing as they called for survivors. But the deeper they went, the more their hope crumbled. One by one, they uncovered bodies, bloodied, torn apart, frozen in expressions of horror.
The stench of death clung to the air like an unshakable curse, and Ahcehera's hands trembled as she knelt beside two lifeless forms.
Renmary and Richmartina. Rohzivaan's younger sisters.
