The forest ahead was thick with mist, each tree gnarled and ancient, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal hands. The whispers of the Abyss had grown faint, but the feeling of being watched lingered. Elara, Lyra, and Doran moved in silence, their footsteps muffled by the soft, damp earth beneath them.
Elara's heart pounded in her chest. She could still feel the pressure in her mind—the Abyss, lurking at the edges of her consciousness, waiting for a moment of weakness. The ritual's instructions swirled in her head, and with each step, the reality of what needed to be done weighed heavier on her shoulders. She knew they couldn't evade the Abyss forever. They needed to find the pure ley line and begin the ritual before the corruption spread too far.
"How much farther?" Doran asked in a low voice, scanning the dark woods around them. His hand remained on the hilt of his sword, always ready for an attack.
