The night did not feel like rest.
Selara lay still against the cold surface of the stone, eyes closed but not fully asleep, her breathing slow and controlled. The sanctuary remained calm, untouched by the corruption beyond its boundaries, yet something inside her refused to settle. It wasn't fear. It wasn't even anticipation. It was pressure deep, quiet, and building. The kind that didn't explode without warning. The kind that cracked slowly, from the inside out.
She could still feel the current.
Not flowing wildly like before, not clawing for release, but present. Waiting.
Watching her as much as she watched it.
Selara opened her eyes.
The faint glow above the stone pillars traced soft lines across the clearing, casting long shadows that stretched and merged along the ground. Around her, the others rested Fenryk's wolves positioned along the edges, alert even in stillness, Draven not far from her, his posture relaxed but never fully off guard.
