The clearing lay in an unnatural stillness beneath the night sky, untouched by the quiet, living pulse that defined the rest of Elvenland.
Fior stood at the center of this small clearing, alone.
The grass shifted softly against his boots as a cold wind passed through the clearing, stirring his black hair. The wounds from days ago had begun to close, though not without resistance. A dull ache still lingered along his ribs, and the cut across his cheek remained visible, a thin line that had yet to fade. He had made no effort to conceal any of it.
He had returned.
Three nights had passed since that encounter, just as the man had instructed. The memory of those words had not left him since, lingering in his thoughts with an unsettling persistence.
Fior exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed ahead, though there was nothing in particular to look at. The stillness of the clearing pressed in on him, amplifying the unease that had followed him here.
