The air crackled with tension as Kaelron's group pressed onward through the treacherous mountain pass. The peaks loomed like silent sentinels, their jagged edges cutting into the mist-filled sky. Kaelron felt the relic pulsing faintly at his side, its warmth steady but unnervingly familiar. Every step toward the obsidian gates brought them closer to the convergence—and closer to danger.
"This path doesn't feel right," Zerin muttered, his daggers spinning idly in his hands as his sharp eyes scanned the ridges above. "Too exposed."
Nyx nodded, keeping close to Umbra, whose growl vibrated low in the still air. "The cult's been tracking us. They know where we're headed."
Eryk glanced over his shoulder, his frost wolf, Frostbane, padding silently beside him. "We should move faster. If they're watching, we don't want to give them time to strike."
