The wind howled across the ruined valley, kicking up dust and ash where life once thrived. The sky above was stained with shades of orange and gray—permanent bruises inflicted by corrupt mana lingering in the atmosphere.
Amid this desolate terrain, four scouts hid within the jagged rocks, peering down at the shifting mass of formless monsters that patrolled the last shard's location.
What had once been a scattered, chaotic horde now moved in coordinated patrols, their movements sharp and predatory.
"They know!"
Whispered one of the scouts, jaw tight with dread.
"They know we're getting closer."
Another nodded grimly.
"And they're guarding the crystals like it's sacred ground now."
They all turned to the eldest scout, who said quietly.
"We need to report this back to the young master. If he knows the enemy is growing more organized, he'll change strategy."
"But we won't all make it back. They'll chase us."
