My gaze swept across the room until it landed on the old wooden sword case resting on the shelf.
The dark wood was worn smooth with age, its grain muted and its edges faded from years of neglect.
Somehow, just seeing it nestled there made the frantic hammering in my chest ease, if only a fraction.
Not because I suddenly knew how to wield a blade.
But because holding something—anything—felt infinitely better than holding nothing.
I crossed the room on unsteady legs, my boots clicking softly against the floorboards, and pulled the case down.
A cloud of gray dust stirred into the air as it landed on the table with a dull, heavy thud, releasing the faint, stagnant smell of aged cedar and brittle leather.
Behind me, Elara immediately straightened, the fabric of her dress rustling.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm looking for a weapon."
Her expression tightened, her brow furrowing with instant disapproval.
Before she could voice her protests, I flipped the brass latch open.
