Echoes Beneath Dying Light
Victor turned back toward the path.
"We're wasting time."
He stepped forward again.
Lane followed immediately, silent and steady.
Clara lingered for half a second longer—eyes shifting between Victor and Diana, who still floated beside him like a shadow stitched to his existence. The spirit did not walk. She simply moved as he moved, black robes drifting soundlessly above the ground.
Clara didn't move.
The forest hummed faintly around her, but her mind was louder.
Mythical.
The word echoed again.
Forged in fire, held by God. Once swung where thunder cracked the sky open.
He brushed it aside as if it didn't matter.
What makes a person act so sure of themselves?
Beneath the annoyance, a different feeling curled like smoke behind her ribs.
Overwhelm.
