The fire in the monastery had long since burned low, a mere ember snaking faint trails of smoke toward the fractured roof. Shadows stretched across the cracked walls like the fingers of ghosts, twisting and lengthening as the first gray light of dawn seeped through shattered windows. Leo stirred from an uneasy rest, muscles stiff, the whisper of the fragment still curling in the hollow of his mind. It was a constant hum now, threading through his thoughts, tugging at memories, urging him toward something he could neither name nor resist.
Outside, a sharp wind carried the scent of wet earth and pine, whistling through the broken rafters and stirring loose shingles. It was the scent of storms past and yet lingering, a reminder that the world had been washed and remade in rain. Leo pressed his cloak tighter, shivering, the fragment inside him pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat just beneath his ribs.
