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? Naâ€™Ral, where are you?
A low moan.
â€œI fell, and I must have hurt my leg. I havenâ€™t been able to get up since yesterday. Thank Heavens you came by.â€
â€œHere, let me help you.â€
An old woman. Withered like the field, her face charred like the earth.
â€œWhat is your name, child?â€
â€œMagraâ€™s daughter …â€
â€œI am Mila. I have known your father for a long time. I hoped and prayed that one day I would see you again.â€
A shadow lifts from the old womanâ€™s face.
â€œThere might be hope after all.â€
Arlia opened her eyes. It was still dark. She felt disoriented for a few seconds. Then she remembered her dream, remembered Mila. â€œThere might be hope after all â€¦â€, she whispered.