The wind had changed.
It carried the scent of stone and dust, mingled with something faintly metallic — like blood and memory. The group moved in silence, following the broken road that wound through the valley’s edge toward the ruins that rose in the distance like jagged teeth.
They had been walking for hours, leaving behind the shattered remnants of the sanctuary. None of them spoke of what had happened there — not the destruction, not the power that had burst from Eryndor, nor the fear they had seen reflected in one another’s eyes.
Lyra walked beside Eryndor, her steps light but cautious. “You’ve been quiet,” she said at last.
Eryndor didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the horizon where the ruins stood beneath a dying sun. “Because I don’t know what to say,” he admitt
