It unsettled Veythor more than he cared to admit. He had not anticipated this dense, unyielding mist that now blanketed the river like a living, breathing shroud.
Raika lay slumped against the boat's side, deep in sleep, while Shimi remained unconscious, though the swelling on her leg had already begun to fade. The strange waters of the river had done more than soothe... it was slowly healing, almost miraculously, leaving faint traces of its otherworldly power lingering on her pale skin.
As I thought… this water is the true goal those masked men wanted us to reach, Veythor reflected, a cold certainty settling in his chest. The realization brought neither joy nor triumph, only the heavy weight of foresight. This was the trap the cruel cunning of enemies who played with lives as though they were pieces on a board.
