The ascent up the spire was treacherous, the path narrowing with each step, as if the very rock itself sought to bar their passage. The air grew colder, biting at their skin as the winds howled around them, carrying with them the whispers of the lost and the damned—souls twisted by Nyx's dark power. Yet, despite the oppressive atmosphere, Elara and her companions pressed on, their determination unwavering.
As they climbed higher, the ground beneath their feet became slick with a strange, black ichor that oozed from the cracks in the stone. The substance pulsed with a sickly light, as if it were alive, and the sight of it made Elara's skin crawl. She could feel the Blade of Eternity growing warmer against her back, the elemental energy within it responding to the darkness that surrounded them.
