The sense of urgency and dread in the Elf Palace reached a fever pitch as the day progressed. The once orderly and serene corridors now bustled with frantic activity, Mages and warriors rushing to and fro, each deeply engrossed in their tasks.
The air was thick with tension, as if the very atmosphere was bracing itself for the impending onslaught.
The sky above the palace that once a brilliant blue, had turned a deep, foreboding gray, almost to the border of becoming black. Thick clouds gathered with alarming speed, swirling and churning like an angry sea.
A chill wind picked up, howling through the high towers and sweeping across the courtyard, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of rain and something more sinister—an acrid tang that set nerves on edge.
Within a houses, a group of Elves huddled together, their faces etched with fear and determination. They spoke in hushed tones, their voices barely audible over the rising wind.
