Morning sunlight filtered through the sparse canopy, casting thin, elongated shadows across the camp. The air was heavy with tension, every breath a reminder of the scout still missing, swallowed by the endless stretch of wasteland.
Inside the command tent, Luke, Commander Valerie, General Charis, and Theron stood around a rough wooden table, its surface cluttered with maps, marked routes, and hastily scribbled notes. The corners of the tent flapped with the breeze, carrying whispers of distant voices and the distant clatter of knights readying themselves for the day.
Commander Valerie's gaze was sharp, her hands resting on the table's edge.
"We're coming up on a whole day. He's still out there… or he's not," her voice was steady, but the weight behind her words was clear.
General Charis rubbed his chin, his expression sombre.
