The Road to Nowhere

The night was silent.

The embers of their fire had cooled, leaving only faint trails of smoke curling toward the sky. The air was thick with the lingering scent of roasted war beast meat and the sharp tang of emberleaf.

Argolaith sat at the edge of the clearing, resting against the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. His muscles still ached from training, but his mind was far from sleep.

Because something was calling him.

At first, it was subtle—like a whisper at the edge of his mind.

Then, it grew stronger.

Not a voice, not words—just a pull.

The first tree had called to him like a heartbeat—steady, familiar. Close.

This?

This was different.

It wasn't here.

It wasn't even near.

The pull came from far beyond the forest, beyond the mountains, beyond even the ruins he and Kaelred had explored before.

It was distant. Vast.

And it was waiting.

Argolaith clenched his fists, closing his eyes.