Chapter 732 - Shadows at Ironleaf (1)

The evening fell like a velvet cloak over the ancient forests of Valaroth, soft yet suffocating, as if dusk itself were reluctant to release the trees it shrouded. A damp breeze drifted through the moss-laden boughs, carrying the faint scent of loam and distant woodsmoke. Draven stood where the trunks thinned, boots planted on a crumbling root, shoulders square against the gloaming. His breath left no plume in the spring air, but every exhale felt measured—an engineer timing bellows in a forge.