Argolaith had not slept peacefully in weeks, but that night, in the small cave at the very top of the mountain, a deep, tranquil slumber finally claimed him.
The cave's interior was modest—a natural shelter carved from ancient rock, its walls smooth and cold, yet offering a welcome reprieve from the biting winds outside.
Here, cocooned in a silence broken only by the steady drip of melting frost, Argolaith's exhaustion gave way to dreams that were as distant and vivid as the legends of old.
Unbeknownst to him, high on the mountain, a deep tremor had shaken the earth. It was as if something vast and ancient had awakened from a long, dormant slumber.
And those foolish enough to investigate the tremors had been devoured by a monstrous creature that lurked in the dark depths of the peaks.
Yet Argolaith, lost in his deep sleep, remained blissfully unaware of the danger that stirred outside his cave.
