The glamour held long after the scouts vanished beyond the valley's ridge. For hours, the kingdom lay still—hidden beneath the veil, its heartbeat muffled, its strength disguised behind the illusion of rot and ruin.
Riven didn't move from the anchor platform until night fell. Even then, it wasn't exhaustion that kept him rooted, but calculation. Quiet. Watching. Waiting.
He stood with Ember at his side, the slow thrum of the anchor pulsing beneath their boots like a second pulse.
Only once he was certain the scouts had fully retreated—and that no stray divine mana lingered in the dust—did he finally exhale.
"It's done," he murmured.
Ember glanced at him. "You mean they're gone?"
He nodded once. "They're gone. And they won't be back. Not soon. Not with what they think they saw."
A grin crept onto her face. "Then we fooled them."
"We did."
She tilted her head, eyes glinting in the fading light. "So what now?"
