Albedo remained very alert as he moved through the Shatterwood Forest, seeing that the fog moved very unnaturally.
All of the fog around him recoiled and bent, twitching in subtle pulses, as though responding to a strange rhythm.
Albedo stood within the treeline, half-shadow, half-silence.
The altar ahead was positioned within a clearing carved unnaturally from the forest. The surrounding trees leaned outward, their bark split and darkened as if something corrosive had breathed against them for weeks.
Three robed figures knelt in triangular formation before the blackened stone structure, chanting in very low tones.
They were clearly all trained, and behind them, the containment circle hummed faintly, the sigils etched deep into the soil began to glow with intermittent pulses of sickly violet, meaning it was primed and calibrated.
