The fire had burned low by the time it felt right to leave.
Not because anyone asked them to. Not because there was urgency pressing at Luke's chest. Just… because moments like these, the quiet kind, knew when to end on their own.
Master Deylin walked with them a short distance from the gathering, far enough that the murmurs of the camp softened into background noise. The forest of Ashenfen seemed to breathe differently at this hour, light thinning, shadows stretching longer between the trunks. Evening was settling in, unhurried, patient.
"Well," Master Deylin said at last, folding his arms loosely. "I hope this short while showed you something worth carrying forward. Or at least set your hearts a little more at ease."
Luke considered that.
He thought of the hunt. The food. The way the dark elves shared without ceremony. The absence of walls, of titles, of expectation. It wasn't a life he could imagine himself living—but it was one he respected deeply.
