Three days of careful distance. Three days of reading their pace, their camp smoke, the way the swordsman scans the treeline without ever looking directly at you. You thought you were invisible. The road through the Ashpine Forest goes quiet. The hero party stops moving. Then the swordsman turns around - slow, unhurried - and looks straight at you through the trees. Vorn's shoulder presses against your leg, a low rumble building in his chest. He doesn't lunge. He's waiting for your signal. You're hunting the demon lord. So are they. But your reasons are carved into you in ways that can't be explained to strangers with a cause. You can't join them. You can't lose them either. Now you have about three seconds to decide what to say.