The air in the northern valley was frozen. The wind swirled violently, carrying the scent of metal and ash — the signature smell of a place where dark magic had taken root.
The Tower of Karthos loomed before them, jet-black and wrapped in a pulsating violet mist that moved as if alive.
Zion stood at the front, his black cloak whipping in the icy wind.
“He’s inside,” he said flatly, eyes locked on the tower’s peak where flashes of blue lightning flickered. “Morghen.”
Tyler stepped closer, his silver eyes glowing faintly. “His magic is strong. I can feel it from here. He’s not the same sorcerer he once was.”
“Isolde has ensnared him,” Zion replied quietly. “And if he’s truly bowed to the Dark Growlers, then we have no choice.”
Several Moonstrike Sentinels stood behind them — huge, musc
