Aelyne weaves her way through the bustling crowd in Avalae's main square, a basket of medicinal herbs clutched to her.
The laughter of children and the murmur of conversations form a familiar melody that soothes her.
Suddenly, a bestial roar rips through the air, followed by cries of panic.
A stray ragus has entered the city, spreading terror in its wake.
The royal guards, in gleaming armor, rush in, their weapons drawn, ready to protect the inhabitants.
But for Aelyne, the sight of these armed figures triggers a wave of uncontrollable terror.
Suppressed memories of her capture by slavers resurface with brutal intensity.
She remembers the shackles, the menacing faces, the shouting voices that reduced her to impotence.
His breath becomes short, his vision blurred.
The basket slips from his trembling hands, herbs scattering to the ground.
She tries to remember the breathing techniques Serae-Kin taught her, but the anxiety is too much.
Desperately seeking a way out, she takes refuge in a shady alcove, far from the hustle and bustle.
There, curled up, Aelyne closes her eyes, trying to distinguish the present from the past.
The sounds of the city fade away, replaced by the echoes of his trauma.
She concentrates on her breathing, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, trying to chase the shadows from her mind.
Every inhalation is a struggle, every exhalation an effort not to give in to the panic that threatens to engulf him.
After what seems like an eternity, the familiar sounds of everyday life return.
The ragus was brought under control and the guards dispersed.
Aelyne emerges from her hiding place, still shaken but determined to regain control.
Ashamed, she picks up the scattered herbs, trying to calm the tremors in her hands.
The laughter of children and the murmur of conversations form a familiar melody that soothes her.
Suddenly, a bestial roar rips through the air, followed by cries of panic.
A stray ragus has entered the city, spreading terror in its wake.
The royal guards, in gleaming armor, rush in, their weapons drawn, ready to protect the inhabitants.
But for Aelyne, the sight of these armed figures triggers a wave of uncontrollable terror.
Suppressed memories of her capture by slavers resurface with brutal intensity.
She remembers the shackles, the menacing faces, the shouting voices that reduced her to impotence.
His breath becomes short, his vision blurred.
The basket slips from his trembling hands, herbs scattering to the ground.
She tries to remember the breathing techniques Serae-Kin taught her, but the anxiety is too much.
Desperately seeking a way out, she takes refuge in a shady alcove, far from the hustle and bustle.
There, curled up, Aelyne closes her eyes, trying to distinguish the present from the past.
The sounds of the city fade away, replaced by the echoes of his trauma.
She concentrates on her breathing, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, trying to chase the shadows from her mind.
Every inhalation is a struggle, every exhalation an effort not to give in to the panic that threatens to engulf him.
After what seems like an eternity, the familiar sounds of everyday life return.
The ragus was brought under control and the guards dispersed.
Aelyne emerges from her hiding place, still shaken but determined to regain control.
Ashamed, she picks up the scattered herbs, trying to calm the tremors in her hands.