The air in Lyndara's outskirts was thick with mist, the moon barely visible through low-hanging clouds. The group moved silently through the abandoned village, their footsteps muffled against the dirt paths. Kaelron adjusted his cloak as they passed rows of crumbling buildings, their wooden frames warped with age and neglect. This place was a ghost town, forgotten by the kingdom and now claimed by the shadows.
"We're close," Zerin whispered, crouching behind a broken cart. "The network said the meeting was happening in the old grain mill up ahead."
Kaelron scanned the area, his grip tightening on his staff. "And they're sure about this? After what happened with the mole, we need to be certain."
Eryk, standing to his right, nodded. "I double-checked the information myself. This isn't bait. The cult's split into factions, and tonight, they're meeting to decide their next move."
