Chapter 17: Appreciation
The tournament slowly drew to a close. Astara received her prize, but for the citizens, her victory was nothing short of divine—they worshipped it as if blessed by the gods. Yet, despite their fervent admiration, Astara remained indifferent.
Zira praised Daylan for his efforts, a wide grin stretching across her face—but it couldn't hide the sorrow beneath. The tears came quickly, streaming down her cheeks before she could stop them. Daylan pulled her into his arms, holding her close as he whispered promises in her ear. It wasn't over, he assured her. He would do whatever it took to bring their mother back.
Medora took Zira home, while Daylan made the quiet journey back to the monastery alone. As for Astara, she excused herself, citing royal duties that demanded her attention.
Later that night, Daylan sat in silence, his head tilted back as he gazed upward. His mind drifted, wandering from one thought to the next.
There wasn't anything I could do, was there? I mean, my route had only seven hellhounds on it, and I killed all...but isn't it something I have to dwell on, is it?
I have four more days. I don't care what it would take; I must get Mother out of prison.
He kept trying to justify his actions, but deep down, he was tearing himself apart—haunted by the thought that he hadn't done enough.
Before long, he rose and reached for a book on the shelf, quickly losing himself in its pages. He moved from one book to another, using the words as a shield against his spiraling thoughts. Eventually, exhaustion crept in, and he drifted off to sleep.
The sun soon began to peek over the horizon, casting a warm glow through the windows. Astara stepped into the library, and there he was—Daylan, fast asleep in his chair, his silver-grey hair gently flicking behind him.
She walked over and gently shook him awake. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the crystal lights, and when he saw Astara standing before him, a soft smile formed on his lips.
"Hey...congratulations."