The trees of Blackthorn Forest loomed tall and twisted, their gnarled branches clawing at the gray sky like desperate fingers. A thick mist curled through the underbrush, shrouding the path ahead in ghostly silence.
Elyndra led the group cautiously, senses alert but powers still dormant, a silent storm brewing inside her.
"Stay close," she warned, voice low. "This forest has tricks. It feeds on fear."
Rael scanned the shadows. "I don't like this. It feels… unnatural."
Porco waddled beside Elyndra, quills slightly raised. "I say we poke around and see what bites first."
"No," she said firmly, "we move fast and quiet."
Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the trees. The warriors snapped into battle stance.
From the mist emerged dark figures—twisted creatures with glowing eyes, minions of the demon.
The fight was fierce but brief. Elyndra watched, heart pounding, as her warriors fought with skill despite their half-seized powers.
After the last creature fell, the group pressed deeper, the sense of dread thickening.
Ahead, hidden in a clearing, lay an ancient stone pedestal, pulsing faintly with light—the relic.
But as Elyndra reached out, a chilling voice whispered from the shadows.
"You think you can take what's mine?"
---