The moon filtered its cold light through the tops of dead trees, casting long shadows on the mossy stones of forgotten ruins. They were isolated there, surrounded by broken columns and ancient inscriptions covered by the dust of time—a temple of gods long silent. Among the rubble, the group had improvised a camp. Small embers burned under magical protection, barely visible, just enough to ward off the cold without giving away their position.
Kael sat on a piece of broken marble, his eyes fixed on the horizon, his aura expanding like an invisible veil that touched the forest beyond. Silent. Calculating. Prepared.
Exelia was nearby, leaning against a fallen pillar, her arms crossed and her eyes half-closed. Her presence was firm but calm—like a sheathed sword, always ready to be wielded.
Minutes passed in absolute silence, with only the rustling of leaves in the wind and the occasional distant song of some nocturnal creature.
