As Liam rejoined the group, his boots crunching lightly on the dirt. His face was set, unreadable, the weight of the new responsibility he'd just placed on Dama lingering like dust on his shoulders. The others looked up as he approached—Jason paused in adjusting the strap on his staff, Sophia glanced from her arrow pouch, and Marcus leaned back against a tree, arms crossed.
"We moving?" Marcus asked, voice rough, eyes still burning.
Liam gave a small nod. "Yeah," he said. "We've wasted enough time here."
The group stood one by one, gathering their gear. There was no excitement in the air—just quiet resolve, maybe even tension. The kind that came after too many days of blood and too little clarity.
Mariel glanced at Liam without saying a word. Sera and Borik stood a little apart from everyone. Even Eleanor looked tired, her usually sharp demeanor softened by the gravity of all they'd been through.
The sound of drums began to rise behind them—low, rhythmic, haunting.
Liam turned.
