They departed at first light, when the world still held its breath.
Shadowlow Valley lay two days south beyond the jagged teeth of Winter's Spine an ancient range cloaked in fog and wrapped in old legends. No path led directly to it. You had to feel your way there, through silence and instinct, and trust that the bones beneath the moss would not rise to stop you.
The resistance moved as one: twenty-four wolves, five mages, and a single Gatekeeper.
Magnolia led them.
Camille followed.
But it was the path that led them all.
By midday, they had passed the last of the border sentries.
No more Pack outposts.
No more help.
The air changed slowly, turning from crisp to cold to bone-deep ache. The forest grew denser. The trees wider. Everything felt older here like the ground remembered.
Camille walked silently beside Magnolia, her hood pulled low. The Keeper moved behind them, his robes never touching the earth.
"You feel it?" he asked softly.
Magnolia nodded. "It's pulling us."
