The journey back to Dunhaven was quiet.
Kaelen walked beside the carriage that carried Lyra, still unconscious, her face peaceful in sleep. The System had assured him she would wake soon, that her body was healing, that the restoration was nearly complete. But he still worried. Every time he looked at her pale face, he felt a pang of guilt. She had followed him into the Scarlands, into the heart of the Pestilence, and she had nearly died for it.
The land around them was changing. The further they traveled from the Scarlands, the greener it became. The dead earth gave way to fields that were slowly recovering, the first shoots of grass appearing in the soil. The yellow sky had cleared, replaced by a soft blue that held the promise of better days.
But Kaelen could not shake the feeling that the calm was temporary.
The prophecy echoed in his mind. The song of the south. The demon that was coming. The prosperity that would follow, but only if the darkness was defeated.
