CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
The leaves have turned from vibrant green to a myriad of oranges and reds since we first sensed the rogue threat. Time unfolds like a silent tapestry, each day bleeding into the next with the same calm monotony. I stand at the edge of the Silverwood Forest, the cool breeze of the approaching evening teasing strands of my hair loose from the braid that hangs over my shoulder.
I watch as Tristan strides across the clearing, his light brown hair catching the last golden rays of the sun, giving him an almost ethereal glow. His eyes, those expressive hazel orbs, seem to capture every shifting shade of the forest. He's in his element here, strong and sure-footed, yet there's a softness to his movements that belies the power I know lies within.
"Looks clear," he says withou
