CHAPTER 42: THE ROAD OF OATHS
We rode north for three days, climbing steadily higher into the pine‑cloaked mountains where the air grew thin and sharp, and the trails wound along cliff edges that dropped away into mist‑filled valleys below. The silver key lay heavy against Kael’s chest, and Silas rode close beside him, his eyes scanning every rock formation and turn in the road like a man looking for ghosts he had known all his life.
By sunset on the third day, we reached the edge of the Grey Wastes — a stretch of stony ground where nothing grew but scrub thorn and wind‑bent heather, and the only sound was the wind howling across the rock. We made camp in the shelter of a jagged outcrop, building a small fire that cast long, da
