Morning came quietly.
Not with birdsong—there were none bold enough to sing here—but with a slow thinning of the darkness and the gentle pull of awareness returning to Damien's body.
He opened his eyes. Somehow, he'd managed to sleep after all that carnage.
Above him, warped branches framed a pale strip of sky, light filtering down through layers of leaves that had survived countless battles.
The bed beneath him, simple but sturdy, was something Luton had produced and placed with surprising care. On either side of him lay his guardians.
Fenrir rested with his massive head on his paws, one eye half-open, its pupil tracking the forest even in rest. Luton sat atop a nearby rock, translucent body faintly pulsing as it finished processing the essence cores it had absorbed during the night.
Nothing had dared approach.
