The forest was silent, too silent, as if holding its breath. The night wrapped the Northern Veil in a velvet cloak, dark and impenetrable, broken only by the glint of moonlight on dew-laden leaves. Selara moved with a predator's grace, her silver eyes scanning every shadow, every rustle of leaves, attuned to the pulse of the land and the subtle energy of her Nightborne magic. Beside her, Draven's presence was a tether to the world, his gold eyes piercing the darkness, every muscle coiled and ready, his every breath synchronized with hers.
They had survived the last wave, but the weight of Kaelen's schemes pressed down heavier than ever. The whispers of shadow magic had grown more insistent, more cunning, suggesting traps in places that once felt safe. Selara's heart beat faster not from fear, but anticipation. She could feel it now: Kaelen was preparing something monumental, a storm that would test not only their strength but the bond threading them together.
