The messenger arrived at dawn.
I was in the great hall, sharing the morning meal with Kaelen, when the doors burst open and a young rider stumbled through, his face pale with exhaustion, his clothes caked with frost. He had ridden through the night, pushing his horse to the limit, driven by the urgency of his news.
Kaelen rose, crossing to the messenger, his hand steadying the young man's shoulder. "Report."
The messenger swallowed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "The Rift, Your Grace. It's... it's quiet. The scouts have been watching for three days. No movement. No monsters. The passes are clear."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. No movement. No monsters. The passes were clear.
I had been in the North long enough to understand what this meant. The monster wave had fully retreated. Not just pushed back, not just delayed, but broken. The Rift, that wound in the world that had been festering for centuries, was silent.
