The day dawned cold and gray.
Mist clung to the road. Thick and wet. It swallowed the trees and softened every sound. Boots fell muffled on packed earth. The world felt wrapped in wool. Kaelen pulled his cloak tighter. The damp crept through the fabric anyway. Settled against his skin like a second layer of cold.
They left the inn before sunrise. The innkeeper had packed dry bread and apples. Nothing warm. Nothing that needed cooking. No one complained. No one spoke much either. Even Aliar stayed quiet. His hands stayed jammed in his pockets. His usual chatter had dried up sometime during the night.
The air felt heavy. Charged. Like the world was holding its breath. Kaelen could taste it. Metal and dust and something older. Something waiting.
