Morning came gently to Grayroot, like the first soft breath after a long rain. The sky was still overcast, but the gray clouds had thinned, allowing faint fused sunlight to slip through and paint the valley in silvery-gray tones. The cold morning air carried the scent of wet earth, fresh straw, and woodsmoke drifting from the low wooden houses. In the inn's backyard, the faint sound of children's laughter rang out bright, free, and unburdened.
Sylvia woke first, as always. She sat up on the edge of the straw mattress, her black cloak already neatly folded beside her. Her red eyes gazed out the small window overlooking the valley. Thin mist still drifted below, but it no longer obscured the view completely. The Chain of Abyss on her wrist was silent, no vibration, a sign that the night had passed without threat.
