The road to Frosthold stretched before us, grey and cold, winding through the passes that would lead us home. The villagers walked in silence behind me, their footsteps slow, their faces pale with exhaustion. The wagons creaked under the weight of the wounded; the children huddled together for warmth; the old ones leaned on each other for support.
I walked at the head of the column, my legs trembling, my hands still faintly glowing with the last remnants of healing light. The ember in my chest was a spark, barely there, but it was enough. It had to be enough.
Runa was beside me, her face drawn, her eyes shadowed. She had not slept, had not rested, and had not stopped moving since the battle ended. But she walked with me, her presence a comfort, her silence a gift.
