They rose not with fanfare, but with quiet resolve. The song that had wrapped them did not end—it shifted, carried now in the steady cadence of footsteps, in the soft rustle of cloaks, in the faint heartbeat of the earth beneath.
Charlotte was first to move, moss brushing from her knees as she stood. "The next glade lies to the north," she said again, her voice a hush that carried. "There's a spring beneath the stone. I saw it in a dream."
Marin responded with a nod, already tapping into the mental map he had memorized. "I confirmed it earlier. Quiet terrain. Natural cover. A good place to expand our reach."
Cruzer glanced at Elara. She met his look, and no words were needed—only the squeeze of her hand, the echo of shared certainty.
This was how it would begin. Not through conquest, but through continuity. Through small places made sacred not by divinity, but by care.
