The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and pine. Xavier stirred awake, his body surprisingly light after the chaos of the previous night. He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his muscles fade, and pushed himself out of the bedroll. The tent flap opened with a soft rustle, and he stepped into the clearing.
The camp was quiet, save for the crackle of a dying fire. Seliora was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Aria sat near the embers, her silver aura faint but steady, her eyes scanning the treeline with calm vigilance.
A few feet away, Lyra lay unconscious, tied with rough rope, her face swollen from a blow. Her hair was matted, her lips split, and her body trembled faintly in sleep.
Xavier's brow furrowed, but he said nothing. He walked toward Aria, who turned her gaze to him and offered a faint smile.
"You're awake, Master," she said softly. "Are you okay?"
