The dusk around them thickened, not with menace, but with promise. It clung to their skin like mist, tasting of old blood and new earth.
Jonan felt each step hum beneath his boots, the world reshaping in rhythm with his heart. He could feel the faint pull of threads unwinding, ready to be rewoven.
Kedes moved ahead, the soldier's instinct making him sweep the horizon for unseen dangers. But here, there were no blades waiting—only the sharp edge of unclaimed future.
Raerin lingered near the platform, eyes tracing the constellations as they realigned. The sky was no longer a map of fate, but a language yet to be spoken.
Jonan knew it then—this wasn't the end of their trial. It was the prologue to a war they wouldn't fight with swords alone.
The new land breathed, pulsing with half-born names, the suggestion of rivers and mountains in the curve of shadows. It waited, not passively, but in quiet expectation.
