As dawn broke into another day, the warriors paused, torches lowered. The valley seemed calm, too calm.
An Emberkin scout returned from the ridge, his torch flickering uneasily. "I saw smoke," he said, voice low. "Not from fire. Not from us. It rose in daylight, curling like memory."
The Ashbound murmured, uneasy. Smoke in daylight was unnatural—it meant shadow was stirring where it should falter.
Kael's hand tightened on his blade. "Marlic. He rebuilds."
Elira's eyes narrowed, the crown pulsing with dread. "He hides, weaving grief into new storm. His silence is not mercy—it is preparation."
The torches flared, fire and smoke mingling, warriors bracing themselves. The hint was small, just a wisp of shadow in daylight—but it was enough.
Suspense hung heavy. Marlic had not struck at night, but his storm was not gone. It was growing, hidden, waiting.