The night was dense with the sounds of the forest rustling leaves, the creak of ancient trees, and the occasional screech of some unseen creature. But the stillness of the Shadowlands was unsettling in a way that left Eryndor’s skin prickling. She had grown accustomed to the dark, to the strange and eerie quiet that haunted this place, but tonight it felt different. It was as though the land itself was watching her.
Her cloak was drawn tightly around her, the hood pulled low over her eyes, but the weight of her rune-bearing hand—always warm, always burning—seemed to grow heavier with every step. It throbbed beneath the fabric, sending tremors up her arm.
“Are you sure about this?” Kaelen’s voice broke through the silence, low but filled with concern. He walked at her side, his sharp eyes
