The road to Sera’s village remembered grief better than maps did. It curved through dark woodland, past stone markers choked with moss, over low hills where the wind moved through dry grass in long silver waves beneath the moonless sky. The Red Moon was not yet visible overhead, but its light had begun to infect the horizon. A faint crimson glow gathered between the trees, touching bark, metal, and faces with the color of old blood.
Sera rode at the front because no one told her not to.
Valerius rode to her left, a pace back, close enough to intervene if the road broke open beneath them, far enough that the space between horses remained a visible decision. Silas rode on her right behind Delara, jaw tight from pain and eyes scanning the trees. Isolde kept a blade strapped openly against h
