DAMIAN'S POV
The morning light was weak, filtered through low-hanging clouds. Aren's shadow stretched long across the rocky path, uneven and jagged like the land itself. Every step demanded attention, every sound carried a question: predator or wind, human or echo.
The valley below lay in partial mist, the remnants of a small village barely visible through the haze. He paused, crouched on the ridge, listening to the world stir. Somewhere below, a dog barked—a sharp, fearful note—and Aren's instincts surged. Humans were near. They weren't hiding; they were surviving. But survival often meant collision.
He adjusted the strap of his pack and shifted the blade at his hip. Not that he wanted confrontation, but awareness was survival. He had learned that lessons were cruel when ignored.
