The trek from the Silent Spires back to the outskirts of Aethelgard felt like walking through the mouth of a closing trap. Kaelen kept to the high ridges, his silhouette merged with the jagged pines that lined the valley’s perimeter. The air here tasted different—thinner, colder, and humming with the residual static of the ritual he had dismantled. From his vantage point, the village looked like a wounded animal, huddled in the cradle of the valley, its structures scarred by the recent c*****e.
"They are rebuilding," Kaelen whispered, his voice caught by the wind. He watched through the gloom as small, flickering lights moved between the ruins of the cottages. There was no joy in the activity, only the grim, mechanical necessity of survival. "And they are still afraid. But not of the mons
