The Watcher in the Smoke

The road ahead stretched endlessly, damp cobblestones glistening beneath the thin veil of mist that clung stubbornly to the air. Each step Kael took felt heavier than the last, the weight of the previous night's chaos lingering like a shadow on his shoulders. The faint scent of charred wood mixed with the earthy aroma of wet leaves, a reminder of the fire and the destruction it had left in its wake.

Kael adjusted his grip on the strap of his pack, his fingers brushing the worn leather hilt of his dagger. It was a small comfort—a tether to stability in a world that felt increasingly unstable. He stole a glance at Liora, who walked beside him with a kind of effortless grace that seemed at odds with the tension humming between them.