The Cohort had marched through a tunnel of flame and wind carved into the Grey Sea's crushing depths for hours.
It hadn't been a long journey in distance, but in effort? Grueling, especially for the ones maintaining the corridor. With few beasts attacking, Lucy's theory about the monsters fearing Eri began to feel less like guesswork and more like fact.
Now, they rested.
A narrow ledge jutted from the jagged cliffside of Caelgorr's island, barely wide enough to hold all six of them. It was a precarious perch—wind-slick stone clinging to the mountain like a forgotten shelf.
Below stretched the endless expanse of the Grey Sea, rippling with a slow, oily unease.
Above them, fog twisted in slow, deliberate spirals, blanketing the upper half of the island in a roiling shroud of gloom. The clouds didn't reach down this far, but Lucy could feel their weight pressing down from above, thick with quiet malice.
