The road east wound like a scar through the forest. For three days, the group pressed on under Seraphel’s quiet guidance, stopping only when exhaustion made their legs betray them. The scholar rarely spoke unless asked, and when he did, his words were heavy with riddles.
The girl—now less frightened, though still haunted by what she had seen—clung to every syllable. The scarred man muttered curses at his vagueness. And Aric… Aric felt the veins in his arm creep higher each night, burning with a fire no rest could quench.
It was on the third night that they found him.
The village of Brennor was no more than a cluster of half-burnt cottages, their timbers blackened and hollow. Smoke still lingered faintly in the air, though no fire remained. Ash coated the road like snow, crunching under
