That night, Arlia slept uneasy.
Where am I?
At the edge of the war-torn land. At the edge of flames.
A farmhouse in the distance. A withered field.
Why is it so difficult to walk? Na’Ral, where are you?
A low moan.
“I fell, and I must have hurt my leg. I haven’t been able to get up since yesterday. Thank Heavens you came by.”
“Here, let me help you.”
An old woman. Withered like the field, her face charred like the earth.
“What is your name, child?”
“Magra’s daughter …”
“I am Mila. I have known your father for a long time. I hoped and prayed that one day I would see you again.”
A shadow lifts from the old woman’s face.
“There might be hope after all.”
Arlia opened her eyes. It was still dark. She felt disoriented for a few seconds. Then she remembered her dream, remembered Mila. “There might be hope after all …”, she whispered.