The cold of the stone steps lingered against her skin, even through her clothes. The village of Hasla at dawn was shrouded in mist. White haze drifting from the direction of the Morine Great Forest blurred the outlines of charred houses and obscured the shapes of broken fences. The morning that had been so lively until last night was quiet today—a weary, exhausted quiet. No crying. No shouting. Only people silently clearing rubble and sitting beside the injured. Elara adjusted her pack on her shoulders. The leather strap bit into her skin. The star-shaped mark on the back of her left hand held a faint warmth in the cold morning air. Even when she wasn't trying to use magic, this place often grew hot. As if something deep inside her body was constantly trying to burn. Kael stood at the eastern edge of the village. His silver-gray hair was tied back, his black cloak rippling in the wind, his gaze fixed toward the forest. The exhaustion from last night's battle showed nowhere on his f