The morning in Eldoria was gray, with low clouds covering the sky like a veil of mourning. The fog was not just atmospheric—it was a reflection of the grief that hung over the entire city. And nowhere was that grief denser than in the ancient Arcane Tower, home to the wizards of Eldoria.
Strax, Cristine, and Yennifer climbed the steps of the spiral staircase that led to the tower's runic stone gates. The place used to glow with floating runes, a constant dance of magical light. Now the lights were out. The upper windows were broken. There were dark stains on the walls — remnants of explosive spells and dried blood.
Yennifer clenched her fist against her chest. "The magic here... is silenced. As if the tower itself were in mourning."
Strax nodded, his expression grave. "It is. Magic is a reflection of the heart, and now... well, this place is just a pit of grief and death after the attack."
