Some of the tension Lia had been carrying faded, her shoulders easing into a posture that was not quite so painfully rigid. The name was not quite a watchword, but it was near enough. "Lia," she confirmed, and offered a smile both weak and sickly.

"I mean that Dena Nehele can only stand as long as the Gray protects it, Prince." Her eyes shadow as she looks down. Despite what he had said earlier, the fear that she had shattered her Jewels in that last desperate attempt to protect Ranon's Wood lingered.