Ariane:
The bog breathed like a dying beast—wet and sour.
Each inhale felt like it was dragging rot into my lungs.
We were knee-deep in the Mirelands now, and I could feel the weight of the Rift ahead like a heartbeat behind my bones.
The Vorelanian blade pulsed at my side, humming with an energy too sharp to be comforting. It sensed something—something vast, something wrong.
Seris kept pace beside me, his silence a steel tether. Before us, Bruin guided the way. Behind us, Ridge and Rook formed a line of shadows, all alert, weapons drawn, boots squelching through moss-slick mud. The stench of decay had worked its way into my skin. But it wasn't just rot. The air was saturated with something foretelling, vibrating deep within me and screaming, "Hurry! Run! Go faster before they are a
