The Voice of the Unseen
The morning after the celebration dawned slower than most. Dew clung to the grass like forgotten dreams, and a hush settled over the land like the world itself was holding its breath. Inside the healer’s tent, Caleb awoke to find Rowan’s arm draped across his waist, their legs tangled, the scent of pine and earth heavy in the air.
Caleb didn’t move right away.
He just lay there, letting the silence soak into his bones.
For the first time in years, he felt peace.
Not the brittle, hard-won quiet of survival. But something softer. Something whole.
Then a quiet cough outside the tent broke the moment.
“Sorry,” Milo called. “There’s... someone here to see Caleb.”
Rowan stirred but didn’t wake. Caleb carefully slipped from the bed, brushed a kiss to Rowan’s temple
