The silence returned, but this time it was peaceful. Elora sank to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Willow walked over and placed a small, weathered hand on her shoulder. "You did it," he said softly. "I just wanted him to go away," she replied.
"He's coming for us," Elora whispered, her voice cracking. "I can feel him in the air." The silence returned, but this time it was peaceful
The mist over the Wildwood didn’t just sit; it breathed. It clung to the boots of the ragtag fellowship like a physical weight, smelling of damp earth and something older—something rotting. "You did it," he said softly
"Elora! Now!" Willow shouted, his face contorting with the effort of holding back the darkness. "The spark is in you! Use it!" "I can feel him in the air
They weren't alone for long. Out of the shadows stepped Willow Ufgood. He looked older than the legends said—tired, his robes frayed at the edges. In his hand, he gripped a carved wooden wand, its tip pulsing with a faint, uncertain amber glow.
Beside her, Silas, the loyal squire, gripped his sword. He wasn't a hero of legend, just a man who believed in a promise. "Then we move faster," he countered, though the sweat on his brow told a different story.