Evening descended slowly over Glowfen Glade. The sky above the misted waters deepened into hues of violet and gold, while the islands dotted across the Glade glimmered faintly with mosslight.
On one such small island, sat a modest home of woven roots, its windows open to the drifting air. From outside, the sound of water lapping gently at the island's edges carried a sense of fragile calm.
Through the open window, the glow of mosslight spilled outward, dim and trembling, as though it too were fading with the day. Inside, the air was hushed and solemn, each shadow stretched long across the walls. The chamber seemed to hold its breath, waiting, as though the house itself shared in the vigil.
Druven remained in his bed, pale and motionless, his body stable now though unresponsive, as if caught in a sleep too deep to break.
