Chapter Text
From the tender years of my childhood, I found solace in Mother's white chambers, before each grand affair, a haven amidst the grandeur of Ostia's noble court.
Mother, carried her title with a grace that masked the inner turmoil beneath her sweet facade. Her quiet resilience, so evident in our private moments, faltered under the scrutinizing gaze of courtly society. Raised amidst these complexities, I matured swiftly, learning to navigate the intricate webs of court politics with a poise that defied my young age.
From my earliest memories, I had admired Mother's beauty, her flowing curls of lilac hair and her ethereal grace. Yet, alongside this admiration, I had also witnessed with confusion her nerves: the trembling hands, the deep breaths before entering the banquet halls, and the hushed, conspiratorial efforts of the ladies-in-waiting who sought to calm her in various ways. They would brew soothing teas, arrange her attire with meticulous care, and offer whispered words of encouragement, all in an effort to soothe her apprehensions in those anxious moments before each grand event.
As we stood together before yet another political banquet, I grew to instinctively offer support to Mother, my touch on her arm a familiar gesture of encouragement. "Mother, they're waiting for us," I murmured, gently and reassuringly .
Florina took a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she smoothed down her lavender dress. "I know, Lilina. I just need a moment."
I had grown accustomed to these moments, where I stood by her side like a pillar, as she prepared to face the scrutiny of Ostia's noble court.
With steadfast determination driven by love, I led Mother into the grand hall. Amidst the buzz of conversation and the grandeur of the surroundings, I took on the role of shielding her from her anxieties, effortlessly engaging with the nobles using my charm and wit.
"Mother, let's start with Lord Gredin," I suggested, guiding her towards an elderly nobleman known for his kindness.
Father, observing from a distance, nodded approvingly. "Good choice, my daughter. He's always had a spot for your mother's gentle ways."
Mother glanced at me with gratitude, her face reflecting relief and pride. "Thank you, Lilina," she whispered relieved .
Together, we navigated the social intricacies of the gathering, my presence a steadfast support amidst the daunting atmosphere of the court. Standing beside Mother, shielding her from the sharp edges of courtly life, I began to understand what true strength meant. It wasn’t about loud speeches or commanding presences, it was the quiet courage to face a room full of skeptics, time and time again.
In those tense moments at court events, Mother’s eyes often sought mine and Father's for reassurance.
"Dad, do you see Lord Leygance over there?" I commented lowly, noting Mother's discomfort as she was surrounded by nobles with smugs grins.
Hector glanced over, his brow furrowing. "Ah, that pompous windbag. Don't worry, Lilina, we'll handle this. Go there to your mother. I'll catch soon"
Mother, with her hands subtly tightening around her fan, looked at us with a mixture of apprehension and hope. "Please... oh Hector," she implored softly, her voice tinged with unease.
With a nod from Father, I moved swiftly into action, intercepting Lord Renard with a blend of polite diplomacy and assertiveness, shielding Mother from disdainful remarks.
2 -
After each event, Mother would retreat to the quiet sanctuary of her chambers, where a fresh cup of tea or a glass of wine awaited her. These evenings became a cherished ritual for us; I would join her, and together we sat in companionable silence or exchanged quiet words about anything but politics.
The grandeur of Ostia's court faded here. The gleam of chandeliers and the rustle of embroidered gowns gave way to the soft crackle of the hearth and the soothing scent of chamomile tea. In this space, Mother shed the weight of noble expectations, though traces of the evening's strain often lingered in her delicate demeanor.
Yet, our solace was often interrupted by the playful teasing of Father and Aunt Farina. They would good-naturedly comment on Mother’s shyness and her struggles with public events. Though their banter was meant in jest, it carried a sharpness that left me uneasy, as I could see how deeply it touched her, even as she smiled and laughed along.
On such evenings, following grand balls or a particularly challenging council meeting, Father's laughter would reverberate through the halls of Castle Ostia.
"My shy little Pegasus rider," he would chuckle, affectionately ruffling Mother's hair. "You'd think after all these years, you'd be used to these stuffy nobles. You were redder than a tomato!"
My Mother, sitting with a cup of tea in her hand, smiled, but there was something in the expression, a shade of sadness. "I-I tried my best," she murmured in a voice barely above a whisper.
"It's just... so many eyes watching." She admitted, her voice small but steady.
Aunt Farina, with her trademark sharpness, interjected, “Florina, remember that time you tried to haggle with the merchant? He raised his voice, and you were ready to pay double to get him to stop!”
Mother let out a soft laugh, the corners of her mouth curling reluctantly. “I wasn’t ready to pay double... I just didn’t know how to tell him no without causing a scene.”
Sensing the need for reassurance, I took her hands in mine. "Mom, they don’t mean any harm. You were great tonight. Don’t let them get to you."
Her eyes were tender as she looked at me. "Thank you, my daughter. Your support means everything to me."
Father, overhearing our conversation, stood, and approached us with a casual expression. "Florina, we're just trying to help you come out of your shell," he said, his voice gentler. "You’re doing better every time, you know. And they adore you more than you realize.”
Mother's gaze flickered between us, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as her eyes met my father. “I know you mean well... It’s just... I’ll never be like you or those confident nobles.” Her voice grew quieter, almost to herself, “But I suppose that’s fine too.”
She squeezed my hands lightly. “Thank you, both of you.”
In those evenings, as I retired to bed as was customary for someone my age, the voices of Father and aunt Farina's laughter, buoyed by spirits, would echo through the castle corridor, would linger in the castle corridors. I wished for them to grasp fully the challenges Mother faced, to recognize the resilience and elegance she maintained despite her timidity and uncertainties. Until that understanding dawned upon them, I vowed silently to stand by her side, just as she had steadfastly supported me throughout my life.
3 -
Those kinds of days were rare: a long-awaited visit from aunt Fiora, whose presence always brought warmth and nostalgia to the halls of Castle Ostia. Her infrequent visits, driven by duties that often took her to far away lands, made each reunion with her sisters a precious event.
Adjusting the sash of my Ostian crest-adorned dress, I eagerly awaited my aunts. Farina, known for her spirited presence as my mother's personal sworn knight and a permanent resident at the castle, brought a sense of familiarity and stability.
The rhythmic sound of hoofbeats drew my attention to the courtyard gate, where Farina rode in on her sturdy pegaus, a mischievous grin already playing on her lips. Dismounting with practiced grace, aunt Farina handed off her reins and strode over to me, enveloping me in a tight embrace that was both surprising and comforting.
"Well, well, if it isn't the future Marchioness herself," Farina teased, her voice laced with playful affection. "And look at you, all dressed up for our special guests!"
I chuckled, feeling Farina's infectious energy lift my spirits. "Aunt Farina, you always bring excitement with you," I replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face.
Farina winked mischievously. "Someone's got to keep things lively around here."
As we awaited Fiora's arrival, I glanced over at my mother, Florina, who stood nearby, her expression a blend of joy and apprehension. Florina, inherently reserved, appeared more nervous than usual in the lively presence of her sisters. I felt my heart melt with affection for her quiet strength and graceful demeanor, which stood in stark contrast to Farina's bold and spirited nature.
Soon, the courtyard gate swung open again, revealing Fiora atop her majestic Pegasus, its white wings shimmering in the sunlight. The sight of my aunt, with her long blue hair flowing behind her and her armor gleaming, stirred awe in me. Fiora dismounted gracefully and greeted her family, her presence bringing a sense of calm and reverence to the bustling courtyard.
"Aunt Fiora," I greeted respectfully, approaching her with a nod. "It's wonderful to see you again."
Fiora embraced me gently. "And you, my dear niece. You're growing into a remarkable young woman."
my mother joined us, her eyes brightening at the sight of her family. The three stood together—Florina, quiet and gentle; Fiora, steadfast and noble; and Farina, spirited and irreverent—a tableau of sisterly bonds that transcended their differences.
Throughout the day at Ostia Castle, laughter echoed through the halls as Fiora, seated beside Florina, spoke passionately about duty and honor, sharing stories of her diplomatic exploits. Farina, animated and witty as ever, regaled us with her latest escapades in service to mother. Florina, hosting as both the lady of the castle and the youngest sister, gracefully bridged their differing personalities, fostering familial harmony with her gentle guidance and fond anecdotes. I sat enraptured, admiring my mother's ability to balance the energies of her elder siblings while maintaining her own quiet dignity, making the rare reunion a warm celebration of sisterhood amidst Ostia's grandeur.
As I watched Fiora and Farina interact with such ease, a deep yearning stirred within me—a longing for the sisterly bond I witnessed between my aunts. Growing up as the only child of Marquess Hector and Florina, I often found myself admiring the playful banter and unwavering support that Fiora and Farina shared.
I couldn't help but sigh wistfully. I imagined what it would be like to have a sister like Fiora, steady and noble, or a sister like Farina, whose spirited nature brought joy to every gathering. Their presence evoked in me a longing for the sisterly companion I had always yearned for—a confidante to share both triumphs and challenges.
"Why don't I have a sister, Mom?" I would often muse with longing. Though I had friends in Ostia, few shared the intimate bond I craved, as many were tied to the constraints of courtly life. As I matured, this longing for sisterly camaraderie only grew stronger, fueled by the harmonious dynamic I witnessed between my mother, Fiora, and Farina.
"Lilina... my sweet girl.... I've always wished I could give you a sister, someone to share secrets with and laugh together. But life doesn't always grant us what we hope for."
Her words bore the weight of regret, echoing a time when my youthful indifference clouded my understanding.
4 -
Riding along the rugged terrain, I turned to Mother with a curious glint in my eyes. The wind whipped through our hair as we journeyed towards Ilia, leaving Ostia's familiar halls far behind. Despite the option to fly on Pegasus back, I preferred the slower journey by land, as I had always been apprehensive about flying, a fear my gentle mother Florina patiently understood, opting to travel alongside me on the safer but longer route through the winding mountain paths and verdant plains.
"Mom," I began, my voice carrying a hint of excitement, "tell me more about Ilia. I know you've shared some stories, but I want to hear about Ilia beyond what we discuss in the castle. What was it really like growing up there?"
Florina was touched by my eagerness to learn more about her homeland. She adjusted in the carriage, the rhythm of our horse's steady hoofbeats soothing against the backdrop of the rugged landscape.
"Oh, Ilia," she mused, her eyes reflecting the memories of a distant past. "Growing up in Ilia was unlike anywhere else, Lilina. Imagine vast, open skies that stretch endlessly. The mountains are majestic yet treacherous, where icy peaks challenge even the bravest. And when night falls, the sky dances with the ethereal Celestial Veil, painting the heavens with colors so vivid, it feels like magic itself."
I leaned forward, captivated by my mother's vivid description. "Were the people different there? How did you spend your days?"
Florina chuckled softly, back in simpler times.
"Ilia's folk are resilient, living off the land. We never were wealthy, so skills would have to suffice—hunting, gathering, and making do through harsh winters. In my younger days, spent in snowy fields, I learned from the elders, dreaming of adventures beyond our village."
I listened intently, hanging on every word. "Did you always want to become a Pegasus Knight?"
Her expression turned thoughtful. "No, not initially. I became a mercenary out of necessity, to support my family and protect our home."
Our horse trotted steadily along the path, the crunch of snow underfoot echoing the memories we shared. I glanced back towards Ostia's distant spires, where Hector, my father, had chosen to remain. In those moments, I realized the depth of my mother's stories beyond the castle walls—how Florina's roots in Ilia shaped her resilience and courage, contrasting with Hector's preference for the warmth and strength of Ostia.
As we rode deeper into the heart of Ilia, the snowy landscape enveloping us in serene isolation, I couldn't stop myself from asking more questions.
"But Mother," I persisted, my youthful idealism undiminished, "why didn't you try to unite Ilia? You could have been a leader here. You're strong and kind."
My Mother's gentle laughter blended with the wind's sighs. She glanced at me with a mixture of fondness and reflection, her thoughts drifting back to a time when life in Ilia was simpler yet filled with its own challenges.
"Lilina, my child," Florina began, her voice carrying the weight of years spent pondering such questions, "leading isn't just about strength. It's about understanding people, their hopes, and fears. Each village in Ilia has its own ways, and I couldn't force them to change."
Her words tipped a switch in me as we rode through the snowy wilderness, and I suddenly became very curious. The rhythmic clip-clop of our horse's hooves against the frozen ground provided a reassuring background to our conversation
"But you've married father," I insisted, my love for Florina shining brightly. "And you've helped Ostia thrive. Isn't that like leading a kingdom?"
Her eyes turned even softer, touched by my earnest belief in her abilities.
"In some ways, yes," she agreed gently, "In Ostia... we're a powerful march, and your father and I work together to guide our people. But Ilia is different. The villages are isolated, each with their own way of life. The people there don't want to be ruled, and uniting them would require more than just strength or good intentions."
I frowned, trying to understand the weight of her words.
"Your father and I balance each other out," she continued, her voice warm yet firm. "He's bold, decisive, but... I help him consider the consequences, what the people truly need. In Ilia, though, no single person could unite them. It's about understanding each village’s fears and needs, and there are too many differences to be solved by one alone."
Our conversation settled into a comfortable silence, the vastness of our surroundings reminding me of both the expansive Ilia and my own experiences.
We rode further, my thoughts drifting between the pages of a book in my hands. The journey through the snowy lands had always been a time for reflection, and today was no different. As I pondered the landscapes passing by and the tales my mother shared, my mind wandered to the times I had witnessed firsthand the division of Lycia into separate marches, each ruled by a Marquess. This decentralized structure of both countries contrasted sharply with the unified rule that many dreamed.
"I never really thought about it that way," I confessed suddenly, looking up from my book with a furrowed brow. "But maybe one day, things will change. Lycia needs a true king or queen to unite it, and so does Ilia."
Mother smiled warmly at my earnestness, her fingers gently brushing a stray strand of my blue hair behind my ear. "Perhaps, my child," she murmured gently. "Perhaps."
5 -
I always remembered finding my mother in the Pegasus stables, amidst the soothing scents of hay and the gentle rustle of wings. She seemed more at ease here than in the bustling halls of Ostia Castle, her hands deftly grooming and caring for the majestic creatures. To me, it seemed as if Florina found more solace in the company of animals than of people.
I watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation as my mother tended to Huey, the spirited Pegasus known for his mischievous antics and loyal heart. Florina's hands moved with practiced grace, brushing through Huey's mane as she shared stories of their adventures together.
"Mother, you do it so well," I asked tentatively, my voice betraying both admiration and a hint of fear. "I can barely care for a Pegasus alone, I can't even imagine flying on one."
Florina looked up to me, understanding. "It's not as daunting as it seems, Lilina. It's all about patience," she returned, her fingers working a knot out of Huey's mane with a gentle touch. "Huey here, he's taught me more than I could ever teach him. He's mischievous, yes, but he's also fiercely loyal and protective."
I joined Florina in the familiar routine of grooming Huey, the Pegasus who had become a beloved companion to both of us. Despite my aversion to flying, which kept me firmly on the ground during our journeys, I found joy in simply caring for Huey's magnificent wings.
As we stood together in the quiet sanctuary of the Pegasus stables, my hands moved over Huey's feathers. I remembered the stories Florina shared about Huey's playful antics and loyal nature, and now those tales became intertwined with my own experiences.
"Here, Lilina," Florina corrected delicately, demonstrating how to properly groom the feathers without startling Huey. "Start from the base of the wing and work your way outward, following the natural curve."
I mimicked my mother's movements, my touch hesitant at first but growing more confident with each stroke. I marveled at the smoothness of Huey's feathers and the strength beneath them, realizing that caring for a Pegasus required both delicacy and strength.
"Mom, he seems to enjoy this," I observed, a smile tugging at my lips as I felt Huey nuzzle against me affectionately. "I never thought I'd enjoy grooming him so much."
Florina nodded with a gentle smile, her own hands deftly working alongside mine. "He does, Lilina. Huey appreciates the care and attention. It's not just about keeping his wings beautiful; it's about nurturing the bond between rider and Pegasus."
Together, we continued our task, the rustling of wings and the small murmur of our voices filling the tranquil air. I found myself drawn to Huey's trust and the connection he fostered between us.
"You know, mom," I began thoughtfully after a while, "I used to be afraid of even being near a Pegasus. But with Huey, it feels different. It's like... I can understand why you love him."
Florina softened with pride and affection as she looked at me. "Huey has that effect on people. He's more than just a Pegasus; he's a friend and a companion. He teaches us about trust."
6 -
It was a typical morning in Ostia Castle, bustling with activity as servants hurried about and courtiers prepared for the day ahead. I sat in my room, deeply engrossed in my spellbook. Its pages were adorned with intricate incantations and mystical diagrams, my most prized possession that spoke volumes about my budding talent in magic—a talent that had always caused apprehension in my mother.
Standing near the windows, I focused intently on practicing a levitation spell on a stone outside. My brow furrowed with concentration as I willed the rock to rise slowly from the ground.
Suddenly, I sensed my mother's approach. Florina's gaze was filled with curiosity and a touch of unease. As the stone lifted higher, her hand instinctively went to her chest, a nervous gesture she often displayed when magic was at play.
"Lilina, my child," she started cautiously, her voice tinged with concern, "do you have to practice magic out here? It... it makes me nervous."
I paused, lowering the stone gently back to the ground. Looking at my mother with understanding, I knew how my magical exercises sometimes unsettled her. "I'm sorry, Mother," I said gently, "I didn't mean to startle you. But I need to practice to get better."
Florina nodded, her gaze softening with maternal reassurance. "I know, Lilina," she replied quetly. "And I support you. It's just... magic has always been something that I've found challenging to understand."
I knew that my mother harbored a deep-seated fear of magic. Raised in Ilia, where superstitions about the arcane were intertwined with stories of powerful sorcerers and dark curses, she had been taught to tread cautiously around such mystical forces.
Though she did respect my talent and never discouraged me from trying my skills as a novice wizard, there was no shaking off a certain unease that settled in her heart whenever magic was invoked, Florina being just an ordinary commoner with no magical of special traces in her blood.
"I understand," I replied, trying to console her, some of my smiles being my reassurance. "It's just alright to have that kind of feeling. Magic can be so unpredictable. But don't worry, dear. I give you this word: I will be very careful."
As Mother walked away from view, I stepped out of my room, a worried frown on my face, remembering something terribly important.
"Mother?" I called, my voice reverberating around the stones of the castle "Have you seen my new spellbook?" Frustration and just a hint of amusement slid into my voice as I continued.
Florina turned, the lilac tint of her hair picking up the mourning light as she looked up with a sheepish smile: "I... I'm not sure. Did you check the library? Sometimes things end up there."
I sighed in frustration. "Yes, I checked. It's not there. I really need it for my studies."
Florina frowned apologetically. "I'm sorry, Lilina. I must have misplaced it somewhere. Perhaps it's in the stables? Or maybe tucked away in one of the chests."
I shook my head, feeling my impatience grow. "Mother, I don't take my spellbooks to the stables."
"Oh dear," she sighed, her voice tinged with regret. "I'm afraid I may have misplaced it again. Maybe it's in your room?"
I sighed, my adolescence making me less patient with my mothers' occasional absentmindedness. This wasn't the first time, nor would it likely be the last, that my mother's forgetfulness caused such inconveniences. Florina had insisted on organizing my things herself, despite the staff being more than capable of handling it.
"Mother, how am I supposed to study if my things keep disappearing?" I said, trying to maintain patience despite my growing irritation.
It started on a crisp morning, the kind that holds the promise of a peaceful day but carries an underlying tension. Ostia Castle, usually bustling with activity, was filled with whispers of concern. Even at my young age, I could sense the unease that gripped the castle walls.
I wandered through the corridors, drawn by the murmurs I overheard—distressing fragments of news about a village attacked, devastation, and loss. The weight of it settled heavily in my chest.
In the great hall, my father Hector stood with his advisors, their faces serious and brows furrowed in deep conversation. I hovered at the doorway, listening intently to their discussion.
"It could be Bern," one advisor murmured urgently. "Their border skirmishes have been escalating. But then again, Ilia has shown increasing interest in our lands."
Hector’s expression hardened with resolve. "We can’t make assumptions without evidence. But we must act swiftly to protect our people."
Just then, my mother Florina entered the hall, still in her nightgown, her usually serene demeanor replaced by a look of anxious worry. I watched as the tension in the room shifted, though not entirely dissipated, with her presence.
"Florina," Hector said, his voice softer than usual. "You’ve heard the news?"
Florina nodded, her eyes filled with concern. "Yes, I have... A village has been attacked, and the people there need our help. I must go to them."
Hector’s protective instincts surfaced immediately. "You can’t just rush into this, woman! It’s been years since you’ve flown into battle with your Pegasus. You don’t know what you’re walking into."
Florina met his gaze, her worry evident. "I understand the risks, Hector. But I can’t stand by while our people suffer. I have to do something. I need to show them that Ilia is an ally, not an enemy."
Hector sighed heavily, torn between his concern for her safety and the urgency of the situation. "We don’t even know who’s behind this attack—Bern or Ilia. You could be walking into a trap."
I could remain silent no more. Stepping forward, my voice shook. "Mama, let me go with you," I begged, my heart racing within me.
My mother kneeled down before me, pushing a lock of my blue hair out of my face. "No, Lilina. It's too dangerous. You must stay here, where it is safe."
"But I want to help," I persisted, shaking with emotion in my voice.
She smiled gently, with warmth and concern lighting up her face. "You help by staying here with your father, supporting him. That’s where you’re needed most."
Hector’s stern expression turned residgned as he looked at us both. "Promise me you’ll be careful," he commanded, his voice tinged with worry.
"I promise," Florina replied softly, leaning in to kiss him gently. She stood and turned to go, her resolve mingled with a deep, underlying fear.
I followed her to the stables as she prepared for her journey. I watched silently as she readied Huey, her loyal companion for many years.
Her hands were graceful with use as she groomed him, and fussed with his saddle—calm, yet full of purpose.
"Mother, you're so brave," I whispered, and my admiration was tinged with a touch of fear.
She turned to me, her face soft. "Bravery isn't about being fearless, Lilina," she said softly. "It's about doing what is right, even when you're afraid."
As she prepared to leave, there was a brief flicker of fear in her eyes, but it was quickly smothered by her resolve.
"I will return, Lilina," she had promised. But even then, she wore the same gentle smile, masking the terror I could see through her eyes
Florina mounted Huey accompanied by her squadron. She cast one last glance over her shoulder at me and my father, then urged the Pegasus into the sky. I watched them out of sight as far as I could until they were only a speck on the horizon.
The following days were excruciating. I wandered around in the castle, miserable, worried, and frightened. I attempted to read books and play games, but my mind repeatedly strayed to Mother, to her safety.
At long last, just when the sun began to set, a messenger arrived in the castle. He had a pale and solemn expression.He was brought before Hector, who stood with me by his side. The news he brought was devastating.
"Lady Florina and her retinue were ambushed," the messenger reported, his voice trembling. "Bandits, likely mercenaries from Bern, attacked swiftly and mercilessly."
Hector’s face twisted with grief and anger. "And Florina?"
The messenger hesitated, his eyes downcast. "She fought bravely, my lord. But... she fell."
My world shattered. I clung to my father, my tears flowing freely as he held me tightly, his own grief evident. The castle, once a place of warmth and safety, now felt cold and empty.
Silence fell over the court as Huey returned to Ostia, wounded and riderless. The sight of the blood-streaked Pegasus broke the hearts of all who saw him. I ran to Huey, tears streaming down my face as I held onto him desperately.
Father stood before me, the anger and grief twisting his face in ways I had never seen. His hands, usually steady and strong, trembled as he held me.
"Huey, where’s Mother?" I sobbed, though deep down, I already knew the answer.
"I should have stopped her," he muttered through clenched teeth.
But I knew that even if he had, Florina’s courage would never have let her stay behind.
Father’s rage faltered as his eyes found me, standing there, tears streaming down my face. Without a second thought, he yanked me into his arms, his grip fierce and instinctive, as if pulling me close could shield us both from the world’s pain. His breath was ragged, his emotions raw, but in that moment, there was no need for words. We were two broken pieces holding each other together, bound by something stronger than grief.
The people of Ostia mourned in their own ways. The castle’s usual energy had been swallowed by sorrow, and for the first time, the sounds of clinking armor and bustling servants felt like an intrusion in the stillness that hung over us. The staff and servants, who had always loved Florina for her kindness and gentle heart, felt her absence keenly, even though the nobles had never quite understood her. It was their grief, too, that made the castle feel so unnervingly lifeless.
After Florina's death, Father was never the same. The towering strength that had once defined Hector, the bold leader unshaken by anything, was slowly eroded by the weight of his grief and rage. Every decision he made, every action he took, seemed to be driven by an unrelenting sorrow that had consumed him. His anger, once a tool of strength in battle, now boiled within him, often erupting at the slightest provocation. But beneath that anger, there was an ache that no amount of fighting or shouting could quiet.
Florina's death became the battle cry of Ostia, a reminder of the dangers beyond their borders. But to me, she was the loss of a loving mother, the hero who taught me what it means to be brave in face of fear.