The frostwood forest loomed in the distance, its tall, twisted trees creaking in the wind as though whispering secrets of the past. Raynor moved quietly through the dense underbrush, his body still sore but no longer aching from the wounds Erin had tended to. She walked beside him, her every step light and swift, as though she belonged to the forest itself.
Raynor glanced at her, the weight of her silence pressing between them. The tension was palpable, like a thread waiting to snap. Erin hadn't spoken much since their conversation in the hut, her thoughts clouded by what they had both learned about the Silverblood. Raynor, too, found himself wrestling with the truth—truths that seemed to multiply the deeper they ventured into the unknown.
"How much do you remember about your past?" Erin
