Dawn had barely kissed the sky when Elira led their small party away from the village. The weight of prophecy clung to her like a second skin, heavy and inescapable. Tavin, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, trudged beside her, while Kael walked ahead, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
The road was long, winding through dense forests and over crumbling bridges. The ruins of the First City lay ahead, their destination set in stone by fate itself. But fate was rarely kind.
They traveled in silence, each step taking them further from home and deeper into the unknown. The woods grew darker, the trees taller, their trunks gnarled with age. The birdsong that had accompanied them at dawn faded into uneasy quiet.
"Something watches us," Kael murmured, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows between the trees.
Elira felt it too—a presence just beyond the edge of sight, lurking where the light could not reach. She tightened her grip on the staff at her side. Magic hummed beneath her skin, waiting.
Then the whispers began.
Soft at first, like wind through leaves, but growing in strength. Voices that did not belong to the living, threading through the air like silk spun from nightmares.
Tavin clutched her sleeve. "Elira…"
Before she could respond, the ground trembled.
The trees groaned as something ancient stirred beneath their roots. The air grew thick, suffocating, charged with an energy that made her skin crawl.
Then, from the darkness, the Watcher stepped forth.