The shared trauma of the dreamwalk settled between them like a third, ghostly companion. They moved with a new, grim purpose, the landscape around them shifting into the Bleakwood, a forest of stark, white-barked trees and silent, grey moss that drank all sound. The heir’s distress was no longer a mere echo; it was a physical pull, a lodestone in Kael’s chest drawing them north-east with a force that made his steps stagger.
Elara moved beside him, her mental shields a constant, low hum of effort. The training was paying off; the oppressive silence of the wood, which felt thick with psychic residue, didn’t penetrate her inner stillness. She was a small moon in the gloom, reflecting back the unease without absorbing it.
“We’re close to the borderlands,” she murmured, consulting the black p
