The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the distant howl of the wind threading through the ancient trees of the Forgotten Vale. Liora stood at the edge of the village, her cloak drawn tight against the cold, eyes scanning the shadows that clung to the forest's edge.
Kaelen was restless back in Arvenholt, wrestling with the voices in his mind—fragments of the Abyss that refused to fade. The transformation had left a mark, a lingering darkness that sometimes whispered secrets in languages he barely understood.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the surface, hidden from prying eyes, the secret faction was gathering strength. Their leader, a mysterious figure known only as the Veilmaster, paced in a chamber lit by flickering candles and arcane symbols.
"We have waited too long in silence," the Veilmaster murmured, voice low and steady. "The Heart's destruction was but a setback. Now, with the Keeper weakened, we shall reclaim what is rightfully ours."
His followers nodded, eyes glowing with a fierce hunger for power. Ancient tomes were opened, spells whispered that twisted reality itself, calling to forces best left undisturbed.
Back in the village, Liora's unease grew. She had received word from spies—strange sightings near the Rift's edge, unnatural storms, shadows moving where there should be light.
She tightened her grip on the Severing Blade. "If the darkness is rising again," she vowed quietly, "then we must be ready to face it—together."
The night deepened, and the shadows waited.
---