The road narrowed into a trail of stone and root, weaving deeper into the wilds where maps faded into rumor. Morning mist clung low to the earth, curling like pale smoke across the path, muffling every footfall. The forest here felt older, stranger, its trees scarred by storms long forgotten, bark gnarled and split, their canopies a thick ceiling that blotted out the light. Even the birds seemed wary, their calls hushed into silence.
Leo kept to the front, though every step weighed heavier than the last. His shoulders were tight, his senses stretched raw. He hadn't chosen to lead, yet the others slowed without someone to follow. The fragment in his chest pulsed faintly, not in triumph or hunger this time, but in a rhythm that matched the oppressive quiet, as if the forest itself listened.
