Morning came soft and pale, brushing the horizon in ribbons of gold and dust.
Luke stirred first, blinking against the sunlight that spilt lazily through the gaps of their makeshift canopy. It felt surreal, almost wrong, to awaken to such stillness after the chaos of the last few days. No panicked breaths. No silent alarms. No distant howls from shadowy beasts or the shuffle of unseen pursuers. Only the quiet.
Beside him, Ilyrana stretched soundlessly, her movements graceful despite the visible wear of exhaustion on her face. Even Vartha, curled nearby, looked more like an oversized house cat than the fierce tiger that had carried them through hell and heat. The beast's slow, steady breathing was oddly comforting—proof that they had truly put distance between themselves and the nightmare behind.
But comfort was a fragile thing. And Luke knew better than to let it linger for too long.
