The land stretched before them, a broken plain of pale earth and skeletal structures, half-swallowed by time. No wind moved here; the air hung heavy, thick with old ash and marrow-deep cold.
They crossed it in silence, the weight of what they'd endured clinging to their shoulders. Bloodstains not their own marked their worn cloaks; blades dulled by too many unseen things.
Kedes kept to the lead, his spear caked in dried ichor. Raerin limped, a wound poorly tended beneath his tunic.
Jonan moved like one hollowed out, each step a demand answered by sheer will. Ahead, scattered lights flickered—not stars, but fire-wrought lanterns clinging to clusters of crude shelters.
The colonies. Or what passed for them here. They came in cautious approach, mindful of eyes behind every cracked stone.
