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The forest was alive with chaos.
Shadows twisted and writhed, their forms merging and reforming with unsettling fluidity, as if the darkness itself had consciousness. The amalgamation bellowed, a sound both guttural and ethereal, shaking the very air with its unholy resonance.
Despite the pandemonium, the knights of the Light Oath moved with unwavering precision, their formations drilled to perfection.
Their faith in the plan— and each other —was unshakable.
"Here," Riverus unhesitatingly shook his coat.
Countless white and orange liquid vials, separately, floated in the air like butterflies. Each landed on the knights' palms.
It was obvious what they were.
Recovery magic potions. One for their Light Magic reserves and another for their physical energy.
Used to such a sight and initial preparations, the knights grew even more determined.
