The early morning air was crisp as Elara, Lyra, and Morgana set out from the base. The forest was thick with mist, the trees towering high above them, their branches casting long shadows on the ground. Despite the quiet, there was an unease that hung in the air. It was as though the battle from the previous day had left a scar not just on the land, but on the very essence of the forest itself.
Elara led the way, her eyes scanning the path ahead. She was determined to reach the capital as quickly as possible. The Council had to be warned, and time was not on their side. The Weavers were regrouping, of that she was certain. The defeated Weaver Lord had only been the beginning—there were more lurking in the shadows, and their plans were growing more dangerous by the day.
