The forest grew strangely quiet the further Damien and Arielle traveled east. Birds no longer sang.
Even the insects seemed to avoid the area. Every now and then, Arielle would stop mid-step, her staff glowing faintly as her eyes scanned the shadows between the trees.
"Something's wrong here," she murmured.
"Well... someone finally spoke up." Damien nodded, though his gaze was already fixed ahead. He had felt it too—a faint pulse of essence unlike anything natural. It was distorted, sharp-edged, lingering in the air like smoke after a fire.
"Stay close," he said.
The two pressed on until the trees broke apart, revealing a barren stretch of ground scarred with blackened soil.
At the far end stood what had once been a building. Stone walls jutted out at odd angles, half-collapsed, with shattered beams and scorched rubble scattered across the ground in various places.
Arielle drew in a sharp breath. "A stronghold?"
