They walked in silence after that, the weight of the future settling over them like the mist that refused to burn off even as the morning dragged toward noon.
The forest grew denser, the trees older, their branches interlacing overhead until the sky became a distant memory glimpsed through gaps in the canopy. Roots tripped their feet; low-hanging vines brushed their faces like cold fingers.
Kael found himself watching Valen more than he meant to.
The elf moved with the same fluid grace he always had, but there was a tightness in his shoulders now, a coiled tension that hadn't been there before the confession.
Every few steps, his gaze would drift to Doran's back—not hostile, not exactly, but watchful. Measuring. As though he were still deciding what to do with the knowledge that had been forced upon him.
He'll carry that weight for a long time, Kael thought. We all will. But at least he's still carrying it. That's something.
