⋆·˚ 𝓣𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓪 𝓦𝓮𝓼𝓽 ˚·⋆

The night bled slowly over the wasteland, all violet haze and dying gold, until the sky became nothing but bruised gray. By the time the fires dimmed, the air had turned sharp, the kind of cold that carried silence with it.

Tavia drew her cloak tighter and stepped away from the diner ruins, boots crunching over gravel slick with dew. Behind her, the faint murmurs of her tribe faded into the soft breathing of those asleep, the low whistle of wind through broken glass, the quiet sigh of the dying world. Ahead, the Waking Woods waited, pulsing with that faint, impossible light that made her heart pull tight in her chest.

The glow between the trees looked almost holy tonight. Blue fire under bark. Slow, rhythmic, alive. It wasn’t right, but it was beautiful in a way she couldn’t stop watching.

She brushed a stray curl behind her ear, eyes catching the shimmer of the woods like they were hypnotized. The hum was stronger out here, the sound threading through the ground and into her bones. It didn’t scare her anymore; it just felt…familiar. Like the Earth was whispering, and she was the only one who still remembered how to listen.

Her hand brushed the handle of her blade without really thinking. Habit. Even beauty could be dangerous these days.

A soft sound drifted from the camp behind her, the creak of boots, the faint jingle of metal. She didn’t turn yet, but her lips curved faintly, a quiet knowing smile. Someone couldn’t sleep either.

“Don’t tell me you followed me out here,” she said softly, her voice barely louder than the wind.