We left the open stretch of road without speaking, but the silence had changed again. It was no longer the aftermath of something that had happened. It was anticipation of something that had not yet revealed itself fully.
The land dipped gradually into a shallow valley, where the road widened and flattened into something closer to a trade route than a forgotten path. Old markers lined the edges at uneven intervals, worn stone pillars with symbols eroded beyond recognition, though I could still feel faint traces of intention embedded in them. Not magic in the conventional sense. Something older. Something that had once meant something to the world before time reduced it to decoration.
Nyx noticed them too. She brushed her fingers lightly across one as we passed.
"These used to mark something," she said.
"They still do," I replied.
She glanced at me. "You can see that too?"
"Not see. Feel."
"That is not better."
"No," I agreed.
