Duck Lake The last of kings

Tvar’s head tilted slightly at her words, his gaze narrowing as the sharpness of her tone cut through the frigid air.

There was something in her voice that stung—disappointment, perhaps, or a challenge he wasn’t sure he could meet. He didn’t flinch, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a crack in his composed exterior.

“I don’t,” he admitted after a beat, his voice low, almost reluctant. “Not all of it. It’s like trying to grasp smoke—every time I think I have it, it slips away.” He exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air as he searched her face, looking for something familiar, something grounding.

“But I remember you, Gjalla. I remember—”

“You left,” he murmured, “I don’t, I don't remember. You speak as if I don't deserve to know. But... I can’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”

His tail twitched behind him, betraying the restless energy he felt.

“You’re right—I’ve changed. I barely know who I am anymore. But I know what you meant to me...” His voice faltered slightly. The picture of a man fragmented and scattered.

Dohaeragon issa shifang.