There were sudden rustlings from the trees, and dark-robed figures emerged from the shadows, moving in eerie silence to encircle the crater. Zarak took in the scene, his eyes narrowing.
"They're outnumbered," he observed, his gaze sweeping over the crimson guards.
The old man didn't respond, and his eyes were fixed on the scene. These crimson-clad figures weren't just random guards, they were high-ranking ascendants, the type who wouldn't let a single leaf fall near their charge without consequence.
And by the look of them, they were ready to defend their charge to the death.
One of the dark-robed figures stepped forward, his hand outstretched.
Darkness pulsed from his fingertips, spreading in a wave as the rest of his group moved to align, forming a tight perimeter around the crater's edge. Their stance was rigid, their intent clear.
Zarak looked to the old man, urgency flashing in his eyes. "We should help them,"
