Smoke bled into the sky behind them, swallowing the trees in a wall of grey and flame. The forest screamed. Birds scattered from the canopy, fleeing into silence.
Leon didn't look back.
Every second counted now.
The vanguard pushed forward, the scent of pitch clinging to their cloaks, ash riding the wind. Naeve was ahead, guiding them down an animal path that twisted between knife-thin trees and black stone ridges. They moved fast—faster than the enemy expected.
But the woods changed.
Somewhere beyond the fire, the trees bent inward. Their trunks thickened, gnarled and blackened, branches forming a jagged ceiling overhead. The path narrowed to a jagged crawlspace that led into an unnatural clearing.
A wide hollow.
And silence.
Leon held up a hand. The troops slowed. Even the horses resisted stepping forward. The snow here was darker, tinged with soot. The air felt heavier, like the forest had exhaled something ancient.
