The morning mist thickened into a living, breathing entity that swallowed the forest in a cold, unyielding embrace. Ryon moved through the dense fog with the silent surety of a stalking wolf, every sense heightened, every muscle tuned to the slightest sign of danger. The air was damp and earthy, heavy with the scent of wet moss and decaying leaves, the forest floor soft beneath his boots. Overhead, the canopy was a tangle of twisting limbs and mottled green leaves, catching what little light dared to fall from the dim, leaden sky.
This forest was a world apart—a labyrinth of shadows and secrets where the unseen eyes of creatures, both mortal and magical, watched every step. The silence was oppressive, thick like a smothering blanket, broken only by the occasional rustle of a hidden animal or the distant cry of a lone hawk. Even the wind seemed cautious, whispering through the branches with quiet restraint, as if wary of disturbing the tension that clung to the woods.
