The dawn in Aerthalis arrived with a heavy, cinematic slowness. Light filtered through layers of luminous leaves, casting emerald, fractured shadows over a curling mist that clung to the paths like tattered silk.
When I awoke, it was to the gentle, rhythmic hum of the village—a sound unlike any I had known in the world below. It wasn't the simple chorus of birds or the soughing of wind; it was a visceral pulse, a low-frequency vibration that threaded through the air and settled deep within my marrow. I shivered, a quiet thrill chasing the remnants of sleep away. I was alive. I was safe—for now. Marcos was already a fixture at the window, his silhouette sculpted against the soft, ethereal light. He looked immovable, a dark monolith of a man who seemed as eternal as the forest itself. I hes
