The silence that followed Elara's words was heavier than the mist clinging to the plains. *Seal it from the other side.* The idea hung in the air, a specter of ultimate sacrifice that none of them were willing to give voice to, yet all of them understood. It was the unthinkable price of failure.
They turned their backs on the ruined stone circle and pressed east, the weight of the pulsing box a constant, grim reminder of their purpose. The land began to change, the open golden plains giving way to rolling, forested hills choked with thorny undergrowth. The air grew thick and still, the cheerful chirp of crickets replaced by the low, persistent hum of unseen insects. The ley lines here felt different to Elara—not corrupted, but *warped*, bent into unnatural geometries that plucked at her senses like discordant strings.
