The next morning came cloaked in mist.
A pale light filtered through the trees, the air thick with dew. The embers of last night's fire still smoked faintly, sending thin trails of grey upward.
The camp was already stirring. Knights moved efficiently, packing tents and loading supplies onto the wagons. The smell of roasted grains and dried meat hung in the air — breakfast, quick and simple.
Oliver stretched, rolling his shoulders with a faint groan. Despite only a few hours of rest, he felt strangely refreshed. The Rune of Vigor was doing its work — no stiffness, no fatigue. If anything, his body felt lighter than ever.
Ariana, on the other hand, looked half-dead, yawning into her palm as she double-checked her staff and pouch of herbs.
"You look like you could use another three hours," Oliver said, smirking.
"I'd take ten," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Didn't sleep a wink with all the snoring."
"That wasn't me."
