That night, Arin dreamed of a vast, desolate land. The sky was black, swirling with storm clouds, and in the distance, he saw a figure bound in chains. The figure struggled, its voice a low growl that echoed through the empty expanse. "Soon," it whispered, "I will be free."
Arin woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The dream had felt so real, as though the chains had rattled in his ears. He glanced toward the window, where a thin sliver of moonlight cast eerie shadows across the room. Could Eryndor's warning be true? Was there truly something dark and powerful that sought him?