The night lay thick over the forest, the closed canopy blocking the moon from illuminating the path. The smell of damp earth and rotting leaves filled the air, muffled by the almost artificial silence. Only the sound of cautious footsteps broke the stillness: four figures advanced among thick roots and shadowy bushes.
Irelia led the way, her hand steady on the sword strapped to her waist, her eyes alert as of a beast on alert. Amelia followed close behind, holding the ice staff that pulsed with a bluish glow, a subtle chill emanating from her skin. Sylphie walked close to the princess, her green aura pulsating in tune with the surrounding forest—every leaf seemed to lean slightly toward her, as if acknowledging her presence.
The princess, sheltered in the center of the formation, kept her hood lowered, trying to appear calm, though her eyes betrayed nervousness.
"I don't like this…" Irelia murmured, stopping suddenly and raising a hand in warning. "It's too quiet."
