The dawn came too quickly, its pale light brushing over Winter's Crown as Damien prepared for the journey ahead. The Black Spire loomed in his thoughts like a phantom, its name carrying weight he hadn't felt in years. Once a fortress of the crown, it had been abandoned after a rebellion long forgotten. Its ruins had become a symbol of lost battles and broken legacies—a place where shadows thrived and secrets lay hidden.
Damien tightened the straps on his armor, his steel-gray eyes glinting with determination as he checked the edge of his blade. Amara lounged nearby, her sharp blue eyes watching him with faint amusement as she adjusted the straps of her leather gauntlets.
"You've been staring at that sword for the past ten minutes," she said, twirling a dagger in her hand. "Nervous?"
"No," Damien replied, sliding the blade into its sheath. "Focused."
Amara smirked. "Well, don't get too focused. You'll scare Vale off before we get there."
