The first trial was a brutal symphony of wind and rock. The mountainside, shrouded in a perpetual mist, seemed to twist and contort, its path a treacherous dance of loose shale and hidden crevasses. Our guides, young and nimble, navigated the treacherous terrain with practiced ease. Damian, fueled by a fierce determination, kept pace despite his lingering injuries. But Hagrid, normally a mountain of unwavering strength, faltered.
A guttural cry tore through the swirling mist, followed by a sickening thud. We spun around to see Hagrid grappling with a shadowy figure, its form cloaked in darkness. A glint of metal flashed – a hunting knife glinting in the pale light. Hagrid roared, a primal sound that echoed through the mountains, but the figure moved with inhuman speed, landing a vicious blow that tore a red gash across Hagrid's arm.
