James and his harem emerged from the dark, oppressive dungeon into the fresh mountain air. It was like breaking through the surface of a deep, suffocating sea. The sky stretched above them, a brilliant canvas of blue streaked with clouds, but James' eyes were focused on the sword in his hand, Zeldor, the Sword of Light. Its ethereal glow hummed softly in his grasp, as if the weapon itself was sentient, aware of the burden it now carried. They had vanquished Mongolan, but James knew their journey was far from over.
The group gathered their belongings and began their trek down the mountainside. The path was treacherous, the rocky terrain uneven and slick from the cold winds that swept across the ridges. Every step felt like a reminder of the dangers they had faced within the dungeon.
