The forest was alive with whispers. I'm starting to think it's watching us.
The silver mist coiled through the twisted roots like living veins, curling and thickening with every step they took. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in broken shards, casting moving patterns that seemed almost alive. Every rustle of leaves, every snapping twig felt deliberate, as though the trees themselves were conspiring to reveal them. Lyra shivered, not just from the cold, but from the sense that something unseen was moving with them. I'm starting to think the forest remembers more than it should.
Ren moved ahead, his golden aura a faint shimmer against the darkness, illuminating the edges of the path through the spectral woods. His hand brushed Lyra’s wrist, guiding her around roots that threatened to
