The air in the forest was thick with dampness, carrying the musky scent of earth and decay. The tall trees loomed like silent sentinels, their branches interwoven to create a canopy that blocked out even the faintest traces of moonlight. Acantha stood motionless amidst the ancient trees, her hands slick with the blood of betrayal. Around her, bodies lay sprawled—former allies who had dared to defy her authority.
Her crimson cloak fluttered in the faint breeze, a stark contrast against the dark, mossy ground. Her chest heaved, not with exhaustion but with barely-contained fury. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils, intoxicating her rage further. She knelt by one of the corpses—Harper's—and stared into his lifeless eyes.
"You thought freedom was an option," she hissed, her voice a low growl. "But freedom is a luxury you don't deserve."
