The forest had grown quiet once again.
Not the natural quiet of a peaceful woodland—but the kind of silence that came when predators moved through territory that belonged to something stronger.
Actually, it only felt that way to Damien who was overly sensitive to the area around him. To any other average person—who isn't Damien or comes from the Terrace lineage and isn't nearly as skilled as he was—the forest would seem normal.
The river behind Damien continued its slow murmur through stone and roots, but everything else had settled into stillness.
The sky above the dense canopy had already begun darkening into deep twilight.
Damien stood on a raised stone ledge overlooking the narrow valley where the river curved sharply between two ridges of ancient rock. It was the kind of terrain that created natural bottlenecks—perfect for trapping something that believed it was the hunter.
Fenrir stood beside him.
