The night around us was unusually quiet, the silence almost unnerving. The fire crackled on, a small flame against the encroaching darkness, as if mocking our fragile sense of security. My mind whirled with thoughts of the ritual, of Raven, and the growing weight of the crystal, but I kept my gaze locked on the fire, trying to keep my focus there rather than on the gnawing uncertainty clawing at me from within.
Raven was beside me, but the distance between us felt wider than ever. Her arm brushed against mine as she shifted slightly on the log we were sitting on, but the contact was fleeting, a brief reminder of the growing chasm between us. Neither of us had spoken much since the ritual. Her words from before still echoed in my mind, her concern, her frustration. How much longer could I hold her trust, I wondered? How much longer before she saw me as something to fear, just like the shadows that haunted us?
