Chapter Thirty-Two
The valley was too quiet.
Elias noticed it before anyone else.
Not silence — activity still moved along the walls, patrol rotations steady, scouts returning from the western pass.
But the rhythm was wrong.
Birds had shifted migration lines.
Wind currents stilled along the northern ridge.
Even the wolves’ movements felt restrained.
The bond pulsed faintly between the three of them — deeper now, heavier since the core rewrote itself.
Shared fate.
It still felt unreal.
Cain leaned against the rampart beside Lyra, watching the treeline below.
“They’re planning something,” he muttered.
“Yes,” Elias said from behind them.
Lyra didn’t turn. “Ironholt?”
“No.”
That got her attention.
Elias stepped forward, gaze fixed on the forest edge.
“This feels… internal.”
