The journey north began before dawn, beneath a sky the color of bruised steel. Selena led them through the blight-frozen paths without fanfare—no flags, no horns, only the whisper of snow beneath boots and the quiet determination that laced every breath. Behind her, a formation of Revenant elites marched in silence, the chosen thirteen to accompany her into legend. Dante moved at her side, the child bound tightly against his chest in layers of blessed silk and frost-marked leather, shielded from the cold and the pull of divine forces. Kael kept to her left flank, his sword never more than a breath away, his gaze never at ease.
No one spoke much. They didn't need to. The air itself was thick with the weight of what was coming. Selena felt it in her bones, like the echo of a song she hadn't yet sung, but already knew would end in ruin.
