Apollo stared at the ruined sanctuary, the broken stones mocking any hope of safety. What once offered protection now promised only danger, as if the forest had deliberately destroyed it to remind them of their vulnerability.
"We can't stay here," he said, the bow's warmth pulsing against his spine with increasing urgency. "Whatever happened in this place, the corruption remains."
The others nodded, their expressions grim in the dimming light. No one argued. No one suggested alternatives. The sanctuary's desecration had extinguished whatever spark of optimism they'd managed to preserve through their ordeal.
They gathered their meager belongings in silence, each movement deliberate and careful, as if loud noises might attract unwanted attention. Apollo felt the bow's pull strengthen as he slung it across his back, its direction unwavering, eastward, always eastward.
