For the past few days, the trio had done little more than wait.
Luke, Ilyrana, and Vartha found themselves camped beneath the jagged shelter of a cave ledge, tucked against a moss-slick rock face that jutted slightly over the edge of a rising hill. What was once just a narrow overhang had, with some improvisation and effort, become a decent little cove—a temporary haven against the storm's fury.
The rain hadn't stopped since the night they crossed the bridge. It poured and howled with no intention of easing, drenching the world in grey. Every hour was filled with the sound of it—a constant, heavy cascade, the sky releasing everything it had held back for weeks, maybe months. And as Luke watched the sheets of rain descend like curtains of silver from their rocky shelter, he couldn't help but feel a sliver of awe.
