The Northern Veil did not sleep.
Even as the storm clouds thinned and the echoes of battle faded into uneasy silence, the forest breathed watching, listening, remembering. Broken branches lay scattered across the clearing, scorched earth still warm beneath clawed footprints and the remnants of shadow-fire. The air smelled of iron, ozone, and damp leaves crushed beneath violence.
Selara stood at the edge of the clearing where Kaelen's shadows had finally withdrawn, her chest rising and falling slowly as silver light pulsed faintly beneath her skin. The Nightborne energy inside her had not settled. It churned, restless, coiling like a living thing that refused to sleep. Her veins glimmered brighter than before, silver threading her arms, collarbone, and throat in patterns that shifted subtly with every breath.
She flexed her fingers, claws retracting with effort. The tremor in her hands was not fear. It was aftermath. Power spent, power held back, power still learning its own shape.
