The forest had never felt so heavy.
Night still clung to the trees like a veil, though the horizon had already begun to pale. The silence left in the wake of battle was fragile, stretched thin, as though even a breath might shatter it. Smoke coiled lazily through the branches, carrying with it the bitter stench of scorched moss and charred wood. The iron tang of blood lingered on the air, sharp and unyielding, a grim reminder of the bodies scattered behind them.
Above, the stars were dimming, retreating before the slow creep of dawn. Their cold light seemed almost reluctant to yield, as if unwilling to bear witness to what the night had birthed.
Leo sat slumped against the trunk of an old oak. Bark pressed rough against his back, grounding him as his chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths. Every muscle screamed with exhaustion, but the ache in his body was nothing compared to the pressure in his mind. The fragment's whispers coiled there like smoke, thick and suffocating.
