The sun rose slowly over the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest's edge as Emily, Alaric, and Mira stood at the outskirts of the village. The air was thick with the chill of the early morning, but none of them felt its bite. Their minds were consumed with the journey ahead—into the Wastes of the Lost.
"I've never seen the Wastes," Mira said quietly, her eyes scanning the horizon where the forest gave way to barren, cracked land. "I've only heard the stories."
Emily fastened the straps of her sword belt, her fingers steady despite the unease settling in her gut. "Stories that we'll soon discover the truth of."
Alaric stood nearby, checking the sharpness of his blade. His expression was as hard as stone, but beneath it, Emily could sense his concern. "We're prepared," he said, almost as if trying to convince himself as much as the others. "We've faced worse before."
