"Hey, Izikel. Wake up."
Lyzah's voice cut through the haze of his dreams like a blade through silk. She shook him once, firmly but not unkindly.
"We're here."
Izikel stirred, groaning as he blinked awake. The canvas above him was painted in shades of amber and dying blue. The wagon had stopped.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he sat up slowly and squinted into the late afternoon light. Trees towered around them, stretching toward the heavens like ancient watchmen, their dense leaves casting shadows over the forest floor. The sun was setting, but it was still warm .
Around him, soldiers moved with the slow, practiced rhythm of exhaustion. Some had already dismounted, letting out soft sighs as they found spots to rest beneath the trees. Others unpacked supplies or unbuckled armor with stiff fingers.
Izikel stepped out of the wagon and stretched with a wince. His back popped, and he yawned loudly.
"I'm so tired."
