The carriage moved through the forest, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the worn path filling the silence. It was a heavy, stifling quiet—one born from the lingering weight of what they had just survived. The attack felt like a distant dream now, but the tension in the air remained palpable, like a shadow that refused to lift.
Luke sat beside Rhys, eyes focused ahead but mind still replaying the events in his head. The searing heat of his flames, the flash of the arrow, the look of panic on Rhys' face—it was all too vivid, too fresh. The forest around them seemed calmer now, but that only made the eerie silence even more pronounced. It reminded Luke of soldiers returning from a battlefield, adrenaline still coursing through their veins despite the fight being over.
