Dawn came slowly to the ridge. It brought no sun, only grey light pushing through clouded sky, thick as breath on stone. The grove where Leon's group had camped was still, but not quiet. Birds had gone silent. Even the wind seemed to pause.
He rose before the others.
The seal's presence had deepened. Beneath the Hollow, something stirred—not fully awake, but not sleeping either. He felt it in his pulse, in the weight of his steps. It was not fear. It was recognition.
Elena joined him at the treeline. She hadn't slept.
"They're close," she murmured.
Leon nodded. "An hour. Maybe less."
Below them, the pass that led into the Hollow stretched like a scar carved through forest and stone. Mist rose from its edges. And from within that mist, faint shapes moved—slow, deliberate. Not scouts. Not beasts. Soldiers.
He turned back to the camp.
"Wake them."
