The silence that followed Elian's discovery was profound, broken only by the distant, fading echo of The Wellspring's magnificent diversion. The resonant beacon winked out, leaving the morning air feeling thin and empty. The three of them—Elian, Mara, and Corvin—stood frozen, the Listening Rod between them humming with the fading, foul imprint of the scout's passing.
"East," Mara finally whispered, the word sounding like a curse. "It's not retreating. It's flanking."
Corvin, ever the pragmatist, knelt and placed his palm flat on the cold ground where the Rod had been. "The trail is days old. But it's not just a single path. It's… smeared. As if it paused here, for a long time. Watching."
