The soft clop of the horse's hooves faded into silence as Ronan brought them to a gentle stop at the crest of the hill. The wind was cooler here, curling through the grass and trees like a whisper of things long past. Riven blinked at the view. It was beautiful!
"Where are we?" he asked softly.
Ronan didn't answer right away. He slid off the horse and reached up to help Riven down, steadying him by the waist as he did. His hands lingered for a moment before he took a few steps ahead, expecting Riven to follow.
They walked in silence, the hush between them not awkward but reverent. The path was lined with wildflowers—gold, white, and violet—bending in the breeze. It led to a small stone marker nestled beneath a tall tree that cast a long, dappled shadow.
It wasn't a grand memorial. There were no clan insignias, no engraved tributes of glory or status. Just a name carved into stone.
Riven's eyes landed on it. He read the name slowly, almost reverently.
