The journey back from the ruins of Aeloria was a quiet one. Elara, Kirin, and Jarek moved with a solemn, deliberate pace, each weighed down by the magnitude of what they had just accomplished—and what lay ahead. The sun had set long before they had cleared the outskirts of the ancient city, and now, under the pale light of the moon, their thoughts seemed as heavy as the silence around them.
They made camp at the edge of the Plains of Aranor, the faint glow of their fire the only warmth in the cold, still night. Kirin sat sharpening his blade, his eyes focused but distant, while Jarek sat with his back against a tree, staring into the flames. Elara, feeling the exhaustion in her bones, pulled her cloak tighter around her and watched the embers rise into the sky.
"We did what we had to do," Jarek finally said, breaking the silence.