The sky above Elandra was clear, the sun casting long, golden rays over the cobbled streets as Inigo and Lyra exited the Adventurer's Guild. But despite the pleasant morning, an invisible weight had settled over them, trailing them like a shadow with every step toward the western ridge.
Neither of them spoke at first.
The city slowly gave way to outskirts, and soon houses became sparse, replaced by gentle hills, tall grass, and the wind-carved stones that marked the edge of Elandra's reach. The path to the old quarry was barely a road—just a dirt trail winding between shrubs and broken fences. Every now and then, they would pass a few traveling merchants, carts parked at the side, resting animals watching silently. The further they went, the less human the world felt.
"You sure about this?" Lyra asked finally, breaking the silence.
Inigo glanced at her. She walked beside him, her hand resting near the hilt of her short blade. Her steps were light but not casual—she was on edge.
