The battle came at dawn.
Elara stood at the edge of the healing hut, watching the warriors march toward the pass. The morning light was pale and cold, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted ground. The air smelled of frost and iron and fear. Caleb was among them, his sword gleaming in the early light, his stride confident despite the weight of what was coming. Damon led them, his dark hair streaming behind him, his face set in hard lines. Theron and Sera rode beside him, united against a common enemy.
She watched until they disappeared into the trees. The last glimpse she had was of Caleb turning in his saddle, looking back at her. Even from that distance, she felt his gaze. Then he was gone, swallowed by the forest.
She turned to her work.
The healing hut was ready—supplies organ
