The mountains loomed like silent sentinels, their jagged peaks shrouded in mist. The path was treacherous, winding through crumbling cliffs and icy ridges, forcing the group to move slowly and carefully. The harsh winds howled through the rock, biting at their exposed skin and carrying faint whispers that none of them wanted to hear.
Kaelron led the way, the map Elorin had left them gripped tightly in his hands. Ignis padded close beside him, the gryphon's sharp talons leaving marks in the frostbitten earth. Behind them, Zerin, Eryk, Nyx, and Lys trudged through the biting cold, each of their faces marked with exhaustion and unease.
The relic at Kaelron's belt had begun to pulse faintly the further they ventured, its warmth oddly comforting in the freezing air. Yet every pulse tugged at him like an invisible thread, a pull he couldn't quite place but knew he couldn't ignore.
