The journey continued, the path winding down from the mountain's shadow and weaving through forests dense with silence.
The soldiers followed Lyerin one by one, each step reluctant, their movements stiff with apprehension.
The terrain shifted from stone to soft, packed dirt beneath their boots, muffling their steps as they walked in an uneasy line, eyes darting to every shadow.
But Lyerin, his posture relaxed and his face calm, led them forward as if he were simply strolling through his own land.
Lucas kept glancing at him, trying to read any hint of tension or alertness in the chieftain's stance, but there was nothing—no sign of worry, no hint of fear.
In the distance, a lone hawk cried out, its sharp call cutting through the silence before vanishing into the ether.
The air was thick with a strange stillness, an absence of life that seemed both unnatural and oddly reassuring.
