The sun rose over the horizon, casting long shadows as the Guardians set out on their journey north. The air was crisp and cool, and the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the path ahead. Each step took them further from the relative safety of their base and deeper into unknown territory.
Elara led the group, her eyes scanning the landscape as they traveled. The path was rugged and uneven, winding through dense forests and rocky outcrops. The forest seemed to grow denser with each mile, the trees looming tall and foreboding. The magic of the ley lines, still resonant from their encounter with the Abyss, pulsed faintly beneath the earth, guiding them forward.
Lyra walked beside Elara, her sword sheathed but her senses alert. "Any idea what to expect once we reach the Weavers' stronghold?" she asked, her voice low but sharp.
