The night air was thick with tension as Amara led her forces through the dense forest, their footsteps silent but purposeful. The temple ruins lay ahead, shrouded in shadows, a dark silhouette against the storm-laden sky. Every gust of wind carried with it a sense of foreboding, as if the land itself were warning them of the darkness awaiting within.
Amara's hand rested on the hilt of her sword, her thoughts racing with every step. Seron's forces hadn't arrived, and she was beginning to accept the grim possibility that they might not. Even if they did, the fragile alliance was likely hanging by a thread. But there was no time to dwell on uncertainties. The sect was gathering at the ruins, and if the ritual was completed, they would unlock a power that could destroy everything.
