Lysara's expression turned grim as she scanned the surrounding forest, her senses sharpening with the stillness that preceded a storm.
The once peaceful, whispering breeze stilled, and the distant calls of birds and rustling leaves faded into a tense silence. Her voice, when it came, was low and urgent.
"Be on your guard. The mountain not only holds ancient power—it attracts those who seek to exploit it."
Argolaith's pulse quickened. He had learned to trust Lysara's instincts, for they had kept them safe through many perils.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, feeling the cool steel beneath his hand, and his gaze shifted to the shadows that flitted just beyond the edge of their campfire's glow.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
