The Hidden Town

The journey southward had been long, stretching across hours of dense forest and uneven terrain.

Despite the exhaustion that weighed on the rescued captives, they pressed forward—driven by the promise of safety and freedom.

None of them thought of asking if they were there yet or not.

While a lot of them had thought of that question, none of them had the guts or motivation to say it out.

For the mean time, they continued to walk hoping to at least arrive at their destination sooner than later.

Damien sat atop Fenrir, his keen blue eyes scanning the forest ahead. His grip on the wolf's fur was relaxed, but his mind never rested.

His thoughts drifted to the map he had taken from Pendalf—and the fact that the place Lizella spoke of didn't exist on it.

Still, he chose not to question her.

Not yet.