The forest breathed differently at night.
It wasn't silent—far from it. Chirps of insects, rustling of leaves, and the distant hoot of an owl created a shifting layer of sound. But everything still felt hushed, like nature itself was holding its breath, aware of something unnatural lingering nearby as if the trees knew what the people didn't.
Luke walked alongside Ilyrana, boots sinking slightly into the soft forest floor, his staff loosely in hand. The air was cool, with the scent of moss and pine clinging to every breath. The moon cast long shadows between the trunks, cutting paths of pale light through a world otherwise swallowed by night.
