The wind that swept across the high ridge carried with it the scent of distant pine and the metallic sharpness of the approaching storm. The sky had darkened into deep slate blue, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath for what was about to unfold. Below the ridge, the valley shimmered with the muted glow of twilight, its tranquil beauty contrasting sharply with the tension coiling in the air.
Elara stood at the cliff's edge, her cloak fluttering violently behind her. Every heartbeat echoed like a drum against her ribs. She could feel the hum of ancient magic beneath her feet—the pulse of the land responding to her presence. Or was it responding to him?
