A few more nights passed beneath Ashenfen's suffocating canopy, and with each one, Luke's thoughts grew heavier.
They were already in the elven land.
Not Hematheas yet—not the heart of it—but undeniably within territory that no longer belonged to humans. The forest here felt different, not just in density, but in presence. The air carried awareness. Paths remembered who walked them. Trees leaned closer than they should. And Luke knew, even if no one had shown themselves yet, that they were not alone.
It was only a matter of time.
Ilyrana shared the same quiet understanding. She hadn't said it outright, but Luke could tell from the way her gaze lingered on the shadows, from how her ears twitched at sounds he couldn't hear. Dark elves did not miss travellers like this—especially not a carriage, and certainly not a tiger the size of a small house.
That night, as a modest fire crackled and dinner simmered, the feeling sharpened.
Ilyrana stiffened first.
