The swamp had shifted again. The Tower had dragged them deeper into its labyrinth, and this time, the landscape spoke of death and decay. The marshy ground was overrun with gnarled, frost-kissed roots that seemed to twist toward the sky like grasping fingers. Wisps of an unnatural fog clung low, curling at their feet, whispering promises of destruction.
Yet something unnatural was at play here—the edges of the swamp began to crystallize as Calantha stepped forward, her mere presence transforming the corrupted land into a brittle, frozen expanse.
She was the embodiment of winter itself. Silent and unwavering, she walked ahead of her group with a cold indifference that made even her allies keep their distance. Bella and Lana moved in opposite directions, each readying themselves for their own trials. But it was Calantha who caught the attention of the looming threat, her frosted aura commanding attention.
