The wind was quieter now. Not gone — just calmer. It didn't scream down the mountain ridges or scratch at their clothes anymore. It drifted instead, cold and slow, like breath out of the stone itself. The three of them sank into a hollow between two peaks, following instinct more than sight.
Even where the path was narrow, though, it wound down, down, into a basin of old snow and rock. The sky above was thick with cloud, and the playful red glow of the Ash Spires painted all things in chiaroscuro — rust and coal.
Serakha could feel the power still warm in her bones. It had settled, not in a blaze, but like coals in the hearth — steady, thrumming. Not gone. Never gone now.
"We'll wait here," she said softly.
Lucian glanced around. "Feels… still."
"That's why." She swept her gaze across the low basin, then pointed to the left, where a jagged outcropping formed a natural shelter. "We rest. We need to. Just for a while."
