The night passed quietly, though the oppressive weight of the forest was palpable. Each crack of a branch or rustle in the underbrush had the disciples on edge. Even with the campfires burning, a chill seemed to creep through the air, one that wasn't just from the cold.
Damien had barely slept. He lay on his back, staring up at the thick canopy of leaves, thinking about the journey ahead. His hand rested on Nightshade, his fingers absently running along the hilt. The sword's presence was comforting, even if the danger felt like it was closing in.
The next morning came quickly. The first rays of the suns filtered through the trees, casting the forest in a dull, red glow. Lilith was the first to stir, her movements silent as she rose from her place near the edge of camp. She called for the others to prepare for the day.
