The dawn of their departure came with a sense of dread. James stood at the head of the armies, his hand resting on the hilt of Zeldor, the holy sword that had saved them from so many perils. Before them, the Dark Mountains loomed, jagged and towering, their peaks disappearing into swirling black clouds. The air was thick, oppressive, and filled with the promise of death. Even the horses sensed it, their restless movements a testament to the unease felt by all.
"We move forward," James said, his voice firm, though his eyes were fixed on the treacherous path ahead. "We've come too far to turn back now."
Beside him, Sasha adjusted her sword, her gaze steely and determined. Yori was already whispering incantations, preparing her magic for the inevitable attacks they would face. Cherry hovered nearby, her wings fluttering anxiously as she scanned the skies, ever ready to leap into action. Pippy gave James a small nod, her bow ready as always.
