The ruins loomed before them, silent and foreboding, standing like an ancient sentinel over the forgotten lands. The air was thick with an ominous energy, pulsating with every breath Marcus took. As the last rays of the sun slipped behind the mountains, the ruins seemed to come alive, shadows twisting unnaturally across the stones.
Marcus clenched his fists, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He could sense it—the same feeling he had experienced when the Rift had first begun to tear at the fabric of the world. But this was different. This was ancient, older than the Rift, older than any evil Marcus had ever faced.
"I don't like this," Elara muttered, her voice low as she studied the ruins with a wary eye. "This energy… it feels wrong."
Marcus nodded, his gaze narrowing. "It's not just the energy. There's something here—something we don't understand."
