Dawn broke gently over Glowfen Glade, not as a shout of light but as a soft loosening of the dark. Mist hauled itself off the lake in slow veils, and the water below the boardwalks traded the moon's silver for the sun's first pale gold. Ropes creaked; dew slid down the ribs of great roots; somewhere a night-bird gave its last thin call before the day claimed the canopy.
Ash breathed in the cold, resin-sweet air and let it settle deep in his lungs as he looked back at the Glade. The world was still asleep, still quiet, save for Rhavri, the only one awake, standing outside the main hall to bid them farewell with a steady gaze. In that quiet, Ash felt the shape of his decision harden into something clean.
Tholn came to his side without ceremony.
"Here we go," he said, "before the sun climbs."
Ash nodded, "Let's go."
