Before they even realised it, morning had arrived.
The rising sun painted the sky with pale hues of orange and dusty rose, and the cool air that had clung to the camp during the night quickly gave way to the dry warmth of the wasteland's edge. A sense of urgency hummed gently through the camp—quiet, disciplined. Knights moved in practised rhythm, breaking down tents, organising supplies, saddling beasts, and prepping for departure. The clinking of armour, the occasional snorted breath of a tired steed, and the muffled conversation of soldiers filled the morning air.
Luke stood a little apart, watching it all unfold.
It didn't feel quite like the end of something, but it wasn't the beginning either. More like a pause—one long enough to breathe, but not long enough to get comfortable.
