The mountain path was having fewer people now. Yet, it was the silence that was no longer that of emptiness. It was silence in listening. Of waiting.
Lucian tiptoed through the stones, the light in his hand still warming and softly throbbing. Serakha and Arden, steady and calm, followed him. Now the city was behind them; still watching — still shining — but this; they walked on with a purpose.
They didn't speak much. The words did not feel necessary at the same time. The morning breeze was cutting but gentle, caressing their faces, as if a new day was touching them. All steps were a choice. A promise.
After an hour of walking, they arrived at a curve where the trees start getting closer together, their branches silvered, that reflect the sun like mirrors. Here, they paused.
"Do you hear that?" Serakha asked.
Lucian turned his head. There was an air. Not a voice. Not music. But something familiar. It is the feeling like pages turning or wind moving through tall grass.
