The following days were quiet but heavy with unspoken tension. Marcus kept his word and remained with the group, but the rift between him and Elara was still painfully apparent. He spoke little, offering only curt responses when necessary, and often kept to himself during their journey. The others noticed, but no one dared to confront him about it—not yet.
The group had made camp by the banks of a small river, its water clear and cool as it meandered through the forest. The air was crisp, the kind of early morning stillness that often brought peace. But Elara's heart was far from calm. She felt the distance growing between her and Marcus, and despite their brief conversation, the resolution had been far from satisfying.
She knew she needed to give him time, but every moment they spent walking in near silence weighed on her. Garrick, ever perceptive, had remained supportive without saying much, his quiet presence helping to steady her. But even he couldn't fix the deeper issues brewing within their group.
As Elara crouched by the river, rinsing her hands in the icy water, she couldn't help but reflect on how different things had been when they'd first set out. The excitement of the journey, the unity of their group—all of it now seemed like a distant memory, replaced by uncertainty and fractured trust.
Isolde, who had been gathering firewood nearby, approached and sat down next to Elara. She didn't speak at first, simply watching the water as it flowed by, her keen eyes flicking occasionally toward the tree line as if searching for any sign of danger.
"You're thinking too hard again," Isolde said, finally breaking the silence.
Elara smiled faintly, appreciating Isolde's ability to cut straight to the point. "I suppose I am. It's hard not to."
"You can't fix everything at once," Isolde replied, her tone pragmatic. "Marcus will come around. He just needs to sort through his own issues. But we don't have the luxury of waiting forever."
Elara nodded, knowing Isolde was right. The fourth artifact was close—closer than ever before. And while the group's internal strife weighed heavily on her, they couldn't afford to lose focus now.
"Any idea where Marcus went?" Elara asked, her voice low.
Isolde shrugged. "Probably scouting ahead. He's still committed to the mission, even if he's got a storm brewing inside."
Elara sighed, standing up and brushing the dirt from her trousers. "I hope he finds some peace soon. We need him—he needs to know that."
Isolde gave her a pointed look. "He knows. He's just too proud to admit it."
Before Elara could respond, Garrick appeared from the edge of the camp, his expression serious. "We need to move," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Elara straightened. "What is it?"
"There's a storm coming," Garrick said, gesturing toward the sky. The clouds in the distance had begun to darken, their edges tinged with an ominous gray. "It's not just weather—it's magical."
Elara's stomach tightened. A magical storm could mean many things, none of them good. If the storm was connected to the fourth artifact, it would only complicate their mission further.
"We should find shelter," Isolde said, already moving to pack up her belongings.
Elara nodded. "Where's Marcus?"
Garrick's face darkened. "He went ahead, but he should be back by now."
A chill ran down Elara's spine. Marcus had been angry, yes, but he wouldn't abandon them—especially not with the artifact so close. But the thought of him out there, alone in the face of a magical storm, unsettled her.
"I'll go find him," Elara said quickly, grabbing her pack and slinging it over her shoulder.
"I'll come with you," Garrick said immediately, but Elara shook her head.
"No. I need to talk to him alone. You and Isolde should head toward the caves we passed earlier—they'll offer some protection from the storm."
Garrick hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded. "Be careful."
"I will," Elara promised, already turning toward the direction Marcus had gone. She couldn't afford to waste any time. The storm was approaching fast, and every second counted.