Alex's gaze lingered on the beast before him.
Aetheria sat down, her crimson clothes catching the light from the sunlit canopy above like burning embers frozen mid-flight. Her red-golden eyes—sharp and knowing—were unfocused, gazing past them, trapped in the snare of her thoughts.
She was no longer the proud, domineering ruler of the skies. In that brief, unguarded moment, she looked… contemplative. Troubled, even.
The words Nyxara had spoken—lighthearted as they seemed—had shaken something loose inside her. An idea. A memory. A question she hadn't thought possible.
Alex watched her with interest, noting the subtle furrow in her brow, the barely perceptible twitch in her clawed fingers as they flexed and relaxed by her sides. For someone so composed, so full of arrogant grace, the cracks were surprisingly human.
