The sky was a breathtaking canvas of warm hues—golden light bleeding into soft pinks and fiery oranges, stretching endlessly over the jagged horizon of Montis Askrath.
Wisps of clouds drifted lazily, painted in streaks of crimson as the last remnants of daylight clung stubbornly to the world.
Below them, the mountain slopes fell away into rolling valleys, darkening in the twilight, their silhouettes sharp against the backdrop of the deepening sky.
Elysia sat on a sturdy rock, rolling her shoulders back and exhaling slowly, feeling the ache in her muscles settle in. Hours of hiking had taken their toll, but the soreness was familiar, even welcomed.
This was a different kind of exhaustion from battle, from wielding a sword or strategizing against enemies. It was a natural tiredness, the kind that came from pushing her body against the elements, from moving and breathing in a world that wasn't tainted by war.
