Liora POV
The dawn trek to Shadow Ridge’s grove is gruelling.
The mist-cloaked forest seems to actively resent our intrusion. The air is thick and cloying, heavy with the damp rot of fallen leaves and the faint, electric hum of ancient, corrupted magic that prickles my skin like a thousand invisible thorns. Every single step is a battle against the land’s living malice. The path is unforgiving; gnarled roots twist from the earth like the skeletal claws of buried beasts, snagging at my boots and threatening to yank me under with every laboured breath. The ground is slick with dew that quickly soaks through my pants, chilling my legs to the bone and turning the soil into a treacherous mire that sucks at my heels with greedy slurps.
Poisonous vines slither almost imperceptibly from the
