The sky above had darkened into a sea of shadows, the trees forming a looming canopy that blocked the last remnants of sunlight. The forest was alive with the faint hum of nocturnal creatures awakening, but the group pressing forward had no time to notice. Their breaths came ragged and shallow, their legs burning with the fire of exhaustion.
Aelorin led the charge, his body darting through the treacherous terrain like a predator. His movements were swift and deliberate, as if every second mattered, which it did. Behind him, the others struggled to keep pace, their boots catching on roots and rocks, but their determination kept them from falling too far behind.
Aelorin's mind was a tempest, the image of his sister, Ariamna, the only thing fueling his weary body. His magic reserves were running low, his stamina nearly depleted, but the thought of her—alone, frightened, and possibly worse—was enough to make him push harder.
