The mists had long begun to part.
For what felt like an endless trek through a dying vein of the world, the group found themselves beneath a sky that shimmered with strange, dull luminescence—neither day nor night, but something caught in between. The world here was quiet. Too quiet.
Kaelen stepped forward first, his boots crunching over the crystalline fragments littering the earth like the bones of an ancient god. His breath clouded faintly even though the air wasn't cold. Behind him, Kelvin's eyes roamed cautiously, his fingers never far from where his scythe is placed behind him, while Morris silently scanned the horizon with his all elemental affinity senses which hinted for him to be someone too used to ambushes. Guinevere followed with her hands glowing faintly, ready to call flame into being, while Ethan tightened his fist around his sheathed twin daggers, the weight of silence pressing on his nerves.
