The path narrowed as we climbed.
Not a trail—an intention. Stone worn not by weather, but by repetition. The ward-keeper fell in behind us without asking permission, silent as moss. I felt him there like an old boundary stone—steady, unyielding.
Below, the drifters faded into the hollow, shadows among shadow.
Above, the howls stopped.
Not tapered. Not answered.
Stopped.
Kael’s fingers brushed mine. Not to restrain. To confirm.
“I don’t like that,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
The silence pressed against my ears until it felt loud. The Mark pulsed once—slow. Not alarmed.
Expectant.
We crested the ridge.
And the world opened.
The spine of the highlands arched before us, jagged and vast. Snow clung to the highest teeth of stone, but the valley carved between them lay bare—wind-scou
