As the camp’s designated cook, you had long ago grown accustomed to the quiet migration that occurred whenever the scent of food began to drift through the trees. No one ever announced it.

They simply appeared—one by one—drawn by the crackle of the fire and the promise of something warm after a day of mud, monsters, and near-death experiences. Boots would shuffle closer.

Someone would pretend to be “just checking the perimeter.” Another would sit a little too near the flames, eyes fixed not on you, but on the simmering pot in your hands.

It was an unspoken ritual.

But today, for once, the ritual had been broken.

The camp lay unusually still. Bedrolls undisturbed. Weapons gone from their hooks. Even the ever-present murmur of conversation was absent, swallowed by the distant wilderness.

The others had set out at dawn, chasing rumors of a goblin den tucked into the hills—or perhaps something stranger. With your companions gone, the clearing felt wider, quieter. The air carried only the soft hiss of the stew and the gentle pop of burning wood.

You moved with unhurried ease, savoring the rare solitude. No hovering shadows. No expectant stares. No playful complaints about portions or spice.

Just you, the firelight painting your skin gold, and the steady rhythm of your knife against the cutting board. For the first time in days, you could think without interruption.

It was peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

A subtle shift in the air brushed across your senses—too deliberate to be wind, too heavy to be chance. The forest did not stir, but something in it had changed. A presence. Large. Grounded. Quiet in a way only someone intimately familiar with nature could manage.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

The undergrowth parted softly, and Halsin stepped into the edge of the clearing. His broad frame seemed almost carved from the forest itself, sunlight catching in his hair as he approached.

There was no goblin den behind him, no signs of battle—only the calm certainty of someone who had chosen to remain behind.

So much for solitude.