The fog burned away with dawn, leaving the world unnervingly ordinary. Apollo's head pounded with every heartbeat, a testament to the sleepless night that left his eyes bloodshot and his golden hair damp with sweat.
He adjusted his pack for the twentieth time, the relic's weight shifting against his spine like a restless animal seeking comfort.
Ahead, the trail cut through scrubland toward the eastern ridge, their compromise after yesterday's circular wandering.
No one had mentioned the impossible ocean that had appeared when they should have been miles inland. No one had the words for it.
Lyra led the way, shoulders set with determination. Cale followed two paces behind, face unreadable as stone.
The others strung out in a ragged line, each wrapped in private exhaustion. Even the dog kept its distance, trotting alongside rather than ranging ahead as usual.
