The night was unnervingly still as Lyra and Kael made their way back to his territory. The trees loomed tall and dark around them, their branches swaying slightly in the cool breeze. It was a strange contrast to the chaos they had just left behind—a calm that felt too fragile, as though the world were holding its breath, waiting for the storm to return.
Kael leaned heavily on her, his injuries more severe than he had initially let on. Lyra could feel the heat of his blood seeping through the makeshift bandage she had wrapped around his side. His steps were uneven, his breaths labored, but he refused to stop. Stubborn as always.
"Kael," Lyra whispered, glancing at him with worry etched into her face. "You need to rest. You're not healing fast enough."
He shook his head, his jaw clenched in pain. "We can't stop here. Not yet. Marcus won't stay away for long."
