The moment Rowan stepped from the trees, the wind turned cold.
Aria's instincts flared. She stepped forward, her body tense, the faint pulse of spirit magic still humming through her veins from the night before. Behind her, Caleb stirred where he lay wrapped in their shared cloak, but she didn't look back.
Rowan's eyes glinted like frost under moonlight, shadows flickering behind him like old ghosts.
"You're alive," she said cautiously.
He stopped a few paces away, his armor dulled by ash, a new scar running from his jaw to his collarbone. "I've been through fire and silence to get here. And I have something you need."
Aria didn't move. "If it's more excuses, I don't want them."
"It's not," Rowan said, reaching slowly into his satchel.
From within, he pulled a long, curved piece of silver obsidian—etched with glowing runes that shimmered with spiritlight. The very air around it rippled.
