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... bark pulsed faintly beneath. "Not hours old. Days, at most."

Draven joined her. He inhaled once, discerning metallic tangs of iron and mana residue. "Elven blood," he judged. "Highborn. And laced with pressure‑sigil backlash—someone tried to heal themselves mid‑casting and failed."

She followed the narrow smear deeper, eyes narrowed. "If an elf survived out here alone, they must be desperate—or bound by oath."

"Or both," Draven said.

The trail wound past a crumbl ...

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