The icy winds of the northern tundra cut through the group like daggers, as the Guardians trudged forward, their cloaks pulled tightly around them. Each step on the snow-covered ground felt heavier, not just from the cold but from the oppressive weight of the dark power that had been steadily growing as they journeyed deeper into the frozen wilderness.
"We're getting close," Morgana said, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. Her eyes were closed, her face strained in concentration as she felt the magical presence they had been following. "The power is stronger here, but... something's different. It's not like before."
Elara glanced at her, concern etching her features. "What do you mean?"
"It feels... ancient. Older than anything we've faced before," Morgana replied. "It's not just a remnant of the Weavers. This is something far worse."
