Dawn on Day ninety-two broke over the Spine with the pale, spotless bright glare of frosted glass.
At first grey light, the camp was packed. The charcoal fire bowl was put out, its cold ashes buried under limestone grit. The canvas shade-tarp was folded into Paxa’s pack-frame. And the empty ration tins were flattened and stowed.
Kezra Venn stood at the southern threshold of the cut gully, leaning lightly on her ash staff.
Paxa Sel stepped up beside her, taking Kezra’s wrist for a final cold and exact check. The healer counted forty heartbeats: seventy-four beats a minute, rhythmic, steady, and full.
“The tremor is gone,” Paxa announced, her fingers releasing the pulse. “Your pupillary reflex is crisp. The eight hours of rest restored your blood-vessel tone. But remember: your bonded notebook is locked in its seven-day cooldown. You carry no class power today. If you meet a rockslide or a locked gate, you can’t move an ounce of stone. You’re an ordinary traveler on an ordinary road.”
“An ordinary traveler is all I want to be,” Kezra answered, a quiet smile touching her lips.
The descent down the newly rigged limestone gully at dawn was an exhilarating, easy progression.
