Morning came slowly to the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest. Mist clung low to the ground, caught between roots and fallen leaves, turning the camp into a pale blur. The small fire from the night before had been smothered early, leaving only cold ash and a faint smoky scent.
Robert was awake before the others. He sat on a flat stone, rolling his shoulder to loosen the stiffness from the previous day. The fight with the wolf-type beast had not left serious wounds, but the strain lingered in muscle and bone. Real combat always did. Training bruises faded quickly. Survival left deeper marks.
He listened. The forest had a rhythm. Insects, distant birds, and the occasional movement of small creatures in the undergrowth. This morning, that rhythm felt broken. Not silent, but uneven. Like a song missing notes.
