The forest was hushed, as though the Whisperfang’s death had stunned even the trees into silence. Only the faint hiss of burning ash remained where the creature had fallen.
Aric sheathed his blade with trembling hands. The scar along his ribs was quiet now, though it pulsed faintly, as if disappointed. He could still hear echoes of the whispers, crawling at the edges of his thoughts.
The girl hadn’t let go of him since the battle ended. She clung to his cloak like a lifeline, refusing to look at the ashes in case the beast rose again.
Seraphel staggered to a fallen log and collapsed onto it, staff across his knees. His skin was pallid, his breath ragged. The light he had summoned had taken too much.
“We must rest,” he whispered, though even that sounded like an effort. “If we keep movi
