Val adjusted his grip on the infant, tucking the soot-smudged cloak tighter around the tiny form pressed to his chest. The baby's warmth seeped into his ribs.
Cracked stones crunched beneath his boots. Hills rolled away on both sides, naked and charred, stretching like the ribcage of a god laid bare. No birdsong. No leaves rustling in the wind. Even the air had forgotten how to breathe.
The baby gave a warbling coo as if sensing something in the distance.
Val slowed. "Shh, little flame," he murmured, brushing soot from the child's forehead with a callused thumb. "Just smoke. Just ghosts."
But he couldn't shake the unease crawling up his spine like frost. He glanced behind them. Nothing but the hollow landscape and a sickle Sun rising pale above the ash-blown plain. Still, he didn't trust it.
With a low grunt, he kept walking.
*****
