They left the hill at dawn.
Or what passed for dawn in a land with no sun.
The sky was still grey, but less sick. The air had stopped humming. The earth no longer whispered names that didn't belong to them. Only the crunch of ash beneath their boots remained, trailing behind them like footprints carved in soot.
No one spoke for a long time.
Even Tomas stayed quiet.
Leon walked ahead, the spire shrinking behind them. Whatever it had shown him—whatever it had made him fight—it no longer followed. But something new settled in his steps. A weight not born from fear or burden, but from *clarity.*
Mira noticed it first. She studied him sideways when she thought he wasn't looking.
Kairis noticed too. She didn't speak of it. She didn't have to.
The path led down into a gulley of fractured glass and black moss. A former battleground, judging by the scattered blades, melted armour, and rusted spears half-buried in the earth. Every stone had been scorched to the colour of dried blood.
