Luke followed behind Ilyrana, each step calculated and careful as they pushed through the dense foliage of Ashenfen. The underbrush was thick, branches clawing at his robes and thorns occasionally snagging the fabric. The robe was a comfort, its familiar weight pressing against him and reminding him of the hidden fire mechanism stitched into its lining. It was a necessary precaution; in a place like this, any spark of defence could be the difference between survival and doom.
Ahead of him, Ilyrana moved with a practised grace, her footsteps silent as if she were part of the forest itself. The morning light struggled to reach them, creating an interplay of shifting shadows that made it difficult to tell where the forest ended and their path began. Luke's eyes flicked to Ilyrana's hair, now neatly tied back with two slender hair bands.
