The mountains loomed before us, their jagged peaks scraping the sky like teeth in a giant's maw. Our foxlin guide led us along a winding path, its bushy tail held high as a beacon in the gathering gloom.
"I don't suppose those Caves of Whispers come with a welcoming committee?" Lukas quipped, his usual humor tinged with nervousness.
Zara shot him a withering look. "This is no time for jokes. We need to be prepared for anything."
I nodded in agreement, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword. The old woman's warning echoed in my mind, mixing with the foxlin's urgent impressions. Whatever awaited us in those caves, it was clear we were racing against time.
As we climbed higher, the air grew thin and cold. The vegetation thinned out, replaced by bare rock and patches of stubborn mountain
