The first light of dawn was dim and cold, seeping into the camp like an unwelcome guest. The group had managed a few hours of uneasy rest, but as the day began, the atmosphere remained thick with tension. Every movement, every rustle of the wind through the barren trees, felt like an ominous warning.
Elara stood at the edge of the camp, watching as the others prepared for the day's journey. Her sword hung at her side, a comforting weight that reminded her of all they had fought through to reach this point. She felt the familiar pressure of leadership—of guiding these people, her friends, into the heart of the unknown, where the shadows grew darker and the dangers more insidious.
"Are you ready?" Morgana asked, approaching with a weary but determined expression. Her eyes, though tired, still held the fierce light of resolve.
Elara nodded, her gaze fixed on the northern horizon. "As ready as we'll ever be. We've come too far to turn back now."
