They began moving as a group. The morning mist shifted away from their steps as they closed in on the strange tree with crimson trunk.
Lyrel and Caelthar fanned out slightly, their sharp Elven eyes scanning the undergrowth. Their ears strained for even the faintest sound in the air.
A tree like this could not be natural. It stood like a monument, a marker of something bigger more than a tree. And markers in forests such as these were rarely unguarded.
Monsters, curses, or strange lingering Magic often clung to them.
Their caution was meticulous. They studied every root, weighed every rustle of leaves, and they even judged every gust of wind.
But in sharp contrast, Eccar and Krono walked straight forward without the faintest hesitation.
To the Elves before they knew their true strength, they would look at them like they were just being reckless and even foolish. They seemed to ignore every unspoken rule of survival in a hostile forest.
Yet the truth was far different.
