Chapter Twenty

Aedan

Dawn crept slowly into the camp, like a quiet guest who wished not to disturb the sleepers. I felt the golden light seeping through the canvas of the tents, brushing over the earth, the dew-drenched grass, the flanks of the resting horses. The world that only hours ago had been filled with growls and the stench of blood now seemed to breathe again. The embers of the fire glowed faintly, like the heart’s final, slow beats, and the cool air filled with fresh scents: damp earth, bark, the fading trace of smoke, and something new—something promising.

I had already been awake, though my eyes were still closed. I listened to the camp. The quiet movements of my Lycans, taking down tents with practiced ease. The whisper of ropes, the faint clatter of harness on the packhorses. I gave no order—none was needed. They had done this a thousand times; their motions were as natural as breathing.

But the small stir beside me was something new. Something foreign—and yet, utterly at home. Nyra sa