The forest was eerily quiet, the usual ambient sounds of chirping insects and rustling leaves muffled as if the very air was holding its breath.
Alone, Lyerin moved through the dense foliage, his steps careful yet swift, his senses sharpened to the point of discomfort.
Every crack of a branch, every shadow that shifted under the moonlight felt amplified, like the forest itself was conspiring against him.
For the first time in a long while, Lyerin felt the true weight of solitude.
It wasn't fear—he'd long since shed such trivial emotions—but an acute awareness of his vulnerability without the soldiers or his usual beasts accompanying him.
This is how it should be, he told himself. Yet, even he couldn't shake the nagging tension that clawed at the edges of his mind.
