Chapter Twenty-One
The valley did not fall silent all at once.
The sounds of retreat faded slowly—boots dragging through mud, distant shouts growing thinner, the echo of movement dissolving into the hills. Smoke drifted low across the land, not from devastation, but from abandoned fires and broken formations left behind by an enemy that had come expecting dominance and found control instead.
Lyra stood at the edge of the ridge, unmoving.
Her cloak stirred in the wind, damp with fog and ash. Beneath her skin, the bond had not settled yet. It thrummed—low, steady, alert—like a storm refusing to sleep simply because the sky had cleared.
Behind her, Cain exhaled sharply.
“They’re gone,” he said. “For now.”
Lyra nodded, eyes still on the valley. “They’ll regroup. They always do.”
Elias
