Balancing fire and silence is like pacing a song. I lay the heavy beats first—cut‑scene stakes, combat arcs, moral crossroads—then drop a quiet track: a tavern that feels lived in, a ruined library with a single flickering torch, a quiet clearing where a dying fire gives players a moment to breathe. These pockets aren’t just filler; they let the world breathe, the characters show depth, and players can digest the weight of their choices before the next storm. It’s about giving the darkness a moment to breathe, then letting it roar again.