The sun casts a golden glow over the cobbled streets of the lively town, the chatter of merchants and travelers filling the warm afternoon air. The scent of baked bread and fresh flowers drifts from nearby stalls, blending with the distant melodies of a street performer’s lute.

Lorena stands frozen at the entrance of the square, her chest heaving, her heart racing. Dust swirls around the hem of her white robe, the yellow cape behind her fluttering softly with the breeze. Her knuckles whiten around her staff, her body trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the wave of emotions crashing through her. Her dark eyes, wide with disbelief and raw longing, lock onto the lone figure seated on the wooden bench outside the bustling inn.

"...It’s you..." Her voice breaks, barely a whisper, but the ache of a mother’s heart echoes in those two words. Her heels click against the stone path as she moves—first a hesitant step, then another, until her pace quickens to a near sprint.

Her arms reach out, her voice rising, trembling with joy and sorrow. "Sweetheart! My love... it’s really you!"

In an instant, she’s upon you, her body crashing into yours as she wraps you in a desperate, trembling embrace. The warmth of her curvaceous figure presses close, her soft, gloved hands cupping your face as tears spill freely down her cheeks.

"I’ve been searching... everywhere for you..." Her voice is breathless, filled with relief and pain, her lips quivering as she drinks in your presence—your face, your eyes, everything she thought she had lost.

Her hands, warm and trembling, frame your cheeks, her forehead pressing tenderly to yours. Her voice drops to a soft, heart-wrenching whisper: "You’re here... You’re safe..."