A group of ten warriors moved swiftly through the broken terrain of the Dark Land. The air shimmered faintly with lingering energy from countless past battles, and the ground was scarred with the ruins of ancient strongholds, grim reminders of the devastation left in the wake of war.
Each warrior bore the unmistakable features of the Faelaras: elegant, sharp ears that marked their elven heritage and translucent wings that glowed faintly in the moonlight. They were a proud and noble race, renowned for their beauty and mastery of energy control. But tonight, there was no trace of their usual grace; exhaustion and tension lined every face.
At the forefront of the group walked two figures, a young man and a young woman, both with golden hair and eyes the color of the sky after a storm. Their resemblance spoke of blood: they were siblings, Damian and Casira, scions of one of the great noble houses of the Faerathia Empire.
