The path up the hill wasn't marked on any map, nor was it used by anyone from the town.
Erian understood that, the moment Seirion, still holding his hand. led him away from the bustle of the festival and, instead of taking the route toward the temple, stepped confidently into the trees.
The forest was dense, but not dark. The lights of the festival, flickering in the distance like fireflies playing among themselves, filtered through the branches and cast soft shadows across the ground.
The path was barely a line between ferns and roots. A path you could only know if you had walked it many times.
Erian walked beside Seirion in silence, feeling the air change as they climbed. It was cleaner, cooler, smelling of damp earth and leaves stirred by the night wind.
A breeze came down from the hill, carrying with it the muffled murmur of the festival, making everything around them feel even more intimate, quieter.
