The Valley of Echoes

Erom paused at the threshold of the overgrown trail, his fingers grazing the vine-wrapped post that marked its entrance. It bore no banner, no carving—only the subtle notches left by time and wind.

"This way is not forbidden," he said, eyes fixed on the path, "but it is rarely chosen. Too narrow. Too uncertain. It doesn't lead to a known place, only deeper."

Cruzer studied the trail, then looked to Elara. She met his gaze, and in the silence, the answer was already shared between them.

"We've followed worse," she said softly.

Erom offered a faint smile, weathered and wistful. "Then perhaps you're exactly the kind who should."

He reached into his satchel and pulled free a small wooden disk etched with three interlocking spirals—the symbol not of one group, but of all three camps entwined. "For those you meet," he said, pressing it into Cruzer's palm. "Proof that peace is possible. That memory can outlast flame."