(Vladford POV)
The forest thinned as we rode.
That was how I knew we were close.
Trees that once stood shoulder to shoulder began to give way to open ground. Moss grew less thick. The air changed—no longer heavy with rain and pine, but tinged with smoke and iron and too many bodies gathered in one place.
A camp.
A rebellion.
A future I had sworn to walk, even if it burned me down to ash.
I sat astride my horse in silence, the steady rhythm of its gait carrying me forward while my mind lagged behind. The road was uneven, scarred by old wagon tracks and newer footprints—soldiers, refugees, messengers moving too fast and sleeping too little.
Hilna rode ahead of me.
Her posture was straight, alert, as though nothing in the world could catch her unprepared. She hadn't looked back once since we left the clearing. I knew better than to mistake that for indifference.
