They reached the ridge by twilight.
No one spoke of what they'd seen. Not the seals. Not the shadowless man. Not the voice that had laughed inside their heads. Their words had begun to slip even before they dismounted—names half-remembered, orders stumbled, sentences trailing into nothing. So they held silence, clinging to it like a rope through fog.
Only Leon remained steady.
He mapped their camp with deliberate precision, checking the perimeter twice before lighting a single flame. The riders huddled together, stripped of pretense and strength. Some prayed. Others stared at their hands as if trying to recall what fingers were for.
Elena sat alone near the stream.
She had not spoken since the seal.
Her hands trembled in her lap, but her face held no fear. Just stillness. Like the silence between a falling spark and the blaze.
Leon approached with slow steps, sword still buckled at his side.
"You need rest."
