For days, the rhythm had been the same—morning rising with the pale light, a steady walk beneath the sky that turned from cool blue to the punishing blaze of midday, and then the inevitable pause beneath the mercy of shade. Luke had grown almost accustomed to it, though his body still reminded him with every ache and sore that this wasn't a life meant for someone like him. Yet he endured, following alongside Ilyrana and with Vartha faithfully carrying their supplies.
The trail that had guided them for so long had been oddly reassuring, a faint but steady reminder that someone else had once come this way. Stones shifted by deliberate steps, patches of trampled earth, even the faintest grooves in places that matched wagon wheels or dragging weights. And then, just as noon's heat bore down on them once again, they reached a spot where that story ended.
The path simply stopped.
