The first light of dawn seeped through the mist-shrouded forest, painting the Astellian camp in pale, silvery hues. Birds whispered timid notes in the branches above, and the cool morning breeze carried the earthy scent of damp leaves and dew-laden grass. Yet beneath the tranquil atmosphere, a different kind of tension rippled through the camp—one hidden beneath red cheeks, awkward laughter, and the unmistakable shuffle of unsteady steps.
Lyan adjusted his cloak, the silver clasp catching a faint glint of sunlight. His gaze swept the camp as he rolled his shoulders, feeling a lingering, pleasant ache in his muscles. His own stride remained steady, but he couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips as he noticed the others.
