The light over the Verdant Verge dimmed as evening crept in, the once-burned forest whispering faintly in the wind.
The golden gleam of Aquila's feathers shimmered weakly through the drifting ash, while Arielle, Lyone, and Captain Veyne stood around the glowing runes carved into the earth.
"Mark this location," Veyne muttered, kneeling to inscribe coordinates on a stone plate from his field kit. "We'll report it to General Ivaan once we're sure it's stable."
Lyone crouched beside the markings, brushing his hand over the faintly pulsing light beneath the soil. "Stable doesn't feel right," he said quietly. "It's like the ground's… breathing."
Arielle turned toward him, lips pressed in a thin line. She could feel it too—the subtle rhythm beneath their boots. A pulse of power rising and fading, as if something vast and unseen slumbered deep below.
