Morning clawed its way over the treetops, pale gold seeping through the mist as though the sky itself bled light. By the time Sylvanna reached the first perimeter post, sentries were stamping cold from their feet, blades resting across forearms while they traded rumors louder than discretion allowed. Their chatter dwindled as she stepped into view. One guard's eyes widened; another swallowed hard and pretended to re-knot the cord on his quiver.
"Morning, Captain," she offered, though none held that rank. It was safer to wrap dread in routine words.
No one answered.
She continued forward, Raëdrithar falling a length behind—enough distance to lessen panic, enough presence to remind every onlooker that her shadow contained lightning. Tents dotted the clearing like earthen cocoons. Between them, cook fires sputtered, bronze kettles already simmering watery porridge. Scouts queued for ration bowls glanced over shoulders; whispers burst like sparrow wings.
"She looks just like her."
