The mountains of the Northern Reach rose like jagged fangs from the frostbitten earth, their peaks shrouded in mist and storm. Kaelin's caravan trudged up the winding path with cautious determination, a hard wind howling across the cliffs like a chorus of ancient voices. Snow fell in slow, deliberate sheets, blanketing the world in white silence.
Kaelin wore a heavy fur cloak over her leathers, the cold biting through her skin despite enchantments woven into her armor. Theron walked at her side, his eyes ever watchful, while Elira scouted ahead with her elite team. Myrra rode just behind, nose buried in scrolls and ancient tomes they had retrieved from the Hollow’s vault.
They had followed the coordinates sent by the Northern scouts—a cave system so old it predated even the Hollow's firs
