The midnight moon bathed the forest in a ghostly silver, casting fleeting shadows through the tall trees as the wind stirred the leaves with a low, mournful rustle.
A bone-deep chill crept through the air, a foreboding silence hanging thick like the final breath before the storm.
The campfire, once blazing, had long since been reduced to smoldering ash, its embers soaked in the blood of a lifeless body.
The acrid scent of iron blended with the wet, earthy musk of the forest, creating a haunting atmosphere that made the night itself seem alive.
Out of nowhere, a blade cleaved through the stillness, gleaming ominously under the moon's glow.
It hissed through the air like a venomous serpent, aimed directly at Lucian's arm with surgical precision, ready to cripple him in one decisive strike.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Lucian's blood-red eyes locked onto the advancing blade, his gaze as steady as the flow of time itself.
